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DANIEL DERONDA.

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Grand court and Gwendolen in the Park.
Photo-etching — from Drawing by Charles Copeland.

DANIEL
D E R O N D A

VOLUME L

By

G E o R G E Eliot

H 0 n t) 0 n

THE HA WAR 13 EN PRESS
M D C C CXC! X

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TO MY DEAR HUSBAND

GEORGE HENRY LEWES.

' Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With lohat I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee — and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ;
For thy sweet love remember\l such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

Extracts from a letter ivritten Oct. 29, 1876, to
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe.

"As to the Jewish element in Deronda, I expected
from first to last, in writing it, that it would create
much stronger resistance and even repulsion than it
has actually met with. But precisely because I felt
that the usual attitude of Christians towards Jews is —
I hardly know whether to say more impious or more
stupid when viewed in the light of their professed
principles, I therefore felt urged to treat Jews with
such sympathy and understanding as my nature and
knowledge could attain to. Moreover, not only towards
the Jews, but towards all Oriental peoples with whom
we English come in contact, a spirit of arrogance and ,
contemptuous dictatorialness is observable which has /
become a national disgrace to us. There is nothing I '
should care more to do, if it were possible, than to
rouse the imagination of men and women to a vision of
human claims in those races of their fellowmea who
most differ from them in customs and beliefs. But
towards the Hebrews we Western people who have been
reared in Christianity have a peculiar debt, and whether
we acknowledge it or not, a peculiar thoroughness of
fellowship in religious and moral sentiment. Can any-
thing be more disgusting than to hear people called
* educated ' making small jokes about eating ham, and
showing themselves empty of any real knowledge as to
the relation of their own social and religious life to
the history of the people they think themselves witty
in insulting ? They hardly know that Christ was a
Jew. And I find men, educated, supposing that
Christ spoke Greek. To my feeling, this deadness to

the history Avhich has prepared half our world for us,
this inability to find interest in any form of life that
is not clad in the same coat-tails and flounces as our
own, lies very close to the worst kind of irreligion.
The best that can be said of it is that it is a sign
of tlie intellectual narrowness — in plain English,
the stupidity — which is still the average mark of our
culture. Yes, I expected more aversion than I have
found. But I was happily independent in material
things, and felt no temptation to accommodate my
writing to any standard except that of trying to do my
best in what seemed to me most needful to be done;
and I sum up with the writer of the Book of Maccabees :
' If I have done well and as befits the subject, it is
what I desired; and if I have done ill, it is what I
could attain unto.'"

CONTENTS.

BOOK PAGE

I. The Spoiled Child 1

II. Meeting Streams 144

III. Maidens Choosing 276

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Vol. I.

Page

Grandcourt and Gwendolen in the Park .... Frontispiece

Gwendolen at the Gaming-Table 5

Grandcourt and Gwendolen at the Archery Tournament . 145

Lydia Glaser and Gwendolen at the Whispering Stones . 205

Deronda meets Mirah on the Banks of the Thames . . . 225

DANIEL DERONDA.

BOOK I.

THE SPOILED CHILD.

K^

CHAPTEK I. " --r4-^

" Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning.
Even Science, the strict measurer, is obliged to start with a make-
believe unit, and must fix on a point in the stars' unceasing journey-
when his sidereal clock shall pi-eteud that time is at Nought. His
less accurate grandmother Poetry has always been understood to
start in the middle ; but on reflection it appears that her proceeding
is not very different from hi.s ; since Science, too, reckons back-
wards as well as forwards, divides his unit into billions, and with
his clock-finger at Nought really sets off in niedias res. No retro-
spect will take us to the true beginning ; and whether our prologue
be in heaven or on earth, it is but a fraction of that all-presuppos-
ing fact with which our story sets out."

Was she beautiful or not beautiful ? and what was
the secret of form or expression which gave the
dynamic quality to her glance ? Was the good or
the evil genius dominant in those beams ? Probably
the evil ; else why was the effect that of unrest
rather than of undisturbed charm ? Why was the
wish to look again felt as coercion, and not as a
longing in which the whole being consents ?

She who raised these questions in Daniel Deron-
da's mind was occupied in gambling : not in the
open air under a southern sky, tossing coppers on a

VOL. I. — 1

2 DANIEL DERONDA.

ruined wall, with rags about her limbs ; but in one
of those splendid resorts which the enlightenment
of ages has prepared for the same species of pleasure
at a heavy cost of gilt mouldings, dark-toned colour,
and chubby nudities, all correspondingly heavy, —
forming a suitable condenser for human breath be-
longing, in great part, to the highest fashion, and not
easily procurable to be breathed in elsewhere in the
like proportion, at least by persons of little fashion.

It was near four o'clock on a September day, so
that the atmosphere was well brewed to a visible
haze. There was deep stillness, broken only by a
light rattle, a light chink, a small sweeping sound,
and an occasional monotone in French, such as
might be expected to issue from an ingeniously
constructed automaton. Round two long tables
were gathered two serried crowds of human beings,
all save one having their faces and attention bent
on the tables. The one exception was a melan-
choly little boy, with his knees and calves simply
in their natural clothing of epidermis, but for the
rest of his person in a fancy dress. He alone had
his face turned towards the doorway, and fixing on
it the blank gaze of a bedizened child stationed as
a masquerading advertisement on the platform of
an itinerant show, stood close behind a lady
deeply engaged at the roulette -table.

About this table fifty or sixty persons were
assembled, many in the outer rows, where there
was occasionally a deposit of new-comers, being
mere spectators, only that one of them, usually a
woman, might now and then be observed putting
down a five-franc piece with a simpering air, just to
see what the passion of gambling really was. Those
who were taking their pleasure at a higher strength.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 3

and were absorbed in play, showed very distant
varieties of European type : Livonian and Spanisli,
Graico-Italian and miscellaneous German, English
aristocratic and English plebeian. Here certainly was
a striking admission of human equality. The white
bejewelled fingers of an English countess were very
near toucliing a bony, yellow, crab-like hand stretch-
ing a bared wrist to clutch a heap of coin, — a hand
easy to sort with the square, gaunt face, deep-set
eyes, grizzled eyebrows, and ill-combed scanty hair
which seemed a slight metamorphosis of the vul-
ture. And where else would her ladyship have gra-
ciously consented to sit by that dry-lipped feminine
figure prematurely old, withered after short bloom
like her artificial flowers, holding a shabby velvet
reticule before her, and occasionally putting in her
mouth the point with which she pricked her card ?
There too, very near the fair countess, was a re-
spectable London tradesman, blond and soft-handed,
his sleek hair scrupulously parted behind and before,
conscious of circulars addressed to the nobility and
gentry, whose distinguished patronage enabled him
to take his holidays fashionably, and to a certain
extent in their distinguished company. Not his the
gambler's passion that nullifies appetite, but a well-
fed leisure, which in the intervals of winning money
in business and spending it showily, sees no better
resource than winning money in play and spending
it yet more showily, — reflecting always that Provi-
dence had never manifested any disapprobation of
his amusement, and dispassionate enough to leave
off if the sweetness of winning much and seeing
others lose had turned to the sourness of losing
much and seeing others win. For the vice of gam-
bling lay in losing money at it. In his bearing
there might be something of the tradesman; but in

4 DANIEL DERONDA.

his pleasures he was fit to rank with the owners of
the oldest titles. Standing close to his chair was a
handsome Italian, calm, statuesque, reaching across
him to place the first pile of napoleons from a new
bagful just brought him by an envoy with a scrolled
mustache. The pile was in half a minute pushed
over to an old bewiggcd woman with eyeglasses
pinching her nose. There was a slight gleam, a
faint mumbling smile about the lips of the old
woman ; but the statuesque Italian remained impas-
sive, and — probably secure in an infallible system
which placed his foot on the neck of chance — im-
mediately prepared a new pile. So did a man with
the air of an emaciated beau or worn-out libertine,
who looked at life through one eyeglass, and held
out his hand tremulously when he asked for change.
It could surely be no severity of system, but rather
some dream of white crows, or the induction that
the 8th of the month was lucky, which inspired the
fierce yet tottering impulsiveness of his play.

But while every single player differed markedly
from every other, there was a certain uniform nega-
tiveness of expression which had the effect of a
mask, — as if they had all eaten of some root that
for the time compelled the brains of each to the
same narrow monotony of action.
PTDeronda's first thought when his eyes fell on this
Iscene of dvill, gas-poisoned absorption was that the
gambling of Spanish sheplierd-boys had seemed to
jhim more enviable, — so far Eousseau might be
'justified in maintaining that art and science had
done a poor service to mankind. But suddenly he
felt the moment become dramatic. His attention
was arrested by a young lady, who, standing at an
angle not far from him, was the last to whom his
eyes travelled. She was bending and speaking

THE SPOILED CHILD. S

English to a middle-aged lady seated at play
beside her ; but the next instant she returned to
her play, and showed the full height of a graceful
figure, with a face which might possibly be looked
at without admiration, but could hardly be passed
with indifference.

The inward debate which she raised in Deronda
gave to his eyes a growing expression of scrutiny,
tending farther and farther away from the glow of
mingled undefined sensibilities forming admiration.
At one moment they followed the movements of
the figure, of the arms and hands, as this proble-
matic sylph bent forward to deposit her stake with
an air of firm choice ; and the next they returned
to the face, which, at present unaffected by be-
holders, was directed steadily towards the game.
The sylph was a winner; and as her taper fingers,
delicately gloved in pale-gray, were adjusting the
coins which had been pushed towards her in order
to pass them back again to the winning point, she
looked round her with a survey too markedly cold
and neutral not to have in it a little of that nature
which we call art concealing an inward exultation.-

But in the course of that survey her eyes met
Deronda's, and instead of averting them as she
would have desired to do, she was unpleasantly
conscious that they were arrested • — how long ?
The darting sense that he was measuring her and
looking down on her as an inferior, that he was
of different quality from the human dross around
her, that he felt himself in a region outside and
above her, and was examining her as a specimen
of a lower order, roused a tingling resentment whicli
stretched the moment with conflict. It did not
bring the blood to her cheeks, but sent it away from

6 DANIEL DERONDA.

her lips. She controlled herself by the help of an
inward defiance, and without other sign of emotion
than this lip-paleness, turned to her play. But
Deronda's gaze seemed to have acted as an evil eye.
Her stake was gone. No matter ; she had been
winning ever since she took to roulette with a few
napoleons at command, and had a considerable
reserve. She had begun to believe in her luck,
others had begun to believe in it: she had visions
of being followed by a cortege who would worship
her as a goddess of luck and watch her play as a
directing augury. Such things had been known of
male gamblers ; why should not a woman have a
like supremacy ? Her friend and chaperon who
had not wished her to play at first was beginning
to approve, only administering the prudent advice
to stop at the right moment and carry money back
to England, — advice to which Gwendolen had
re])lied that she cared for the excitement of play,
not the winnings. On that supposition the pres-
ent moment ought to have made the flood-tide in
her eager experience of gambling. Yet when her
next stake was swept away, she felt the orbits of
her eyes getting hot, and the certainty she had
(without looking) of that man still watching her,
was something like a pressure wliich begins to be
torturing : the more reason to her why she should
not flinch, but go on playing as if she were indif-
ferent to loss or gain. Her friend touched her
elbow, and proposed that they should quit the
table. For reply Gwendolen put ten louis on the
same spot ; she was in that mood of defiance in
which the mind loses sight of any end beyond the
satisfaction of enraged resistance, and with the
puerile stupidity of a dominant impulse includes

THE SPOILED CHILD. 7

luck among its objects of defiance. Since she was
not winning strikingly, the next best thing was to
lose strikingly. She controlled her muscles, and
showed no tremor of mouth or hands. Each time
her stake was swept off she doubled it. Many
were now watching her ; but the sole observation she
was conscious of was Deronda's, who, though she
never looked towards him, she was sure had not
moved away. Such a drama takes no long while
to play out ; development and catastrophe can often
be measured by nothing clumsier than the moment-
hand. " Faites votre jeu, mesdames et messieurs,"
said the automatic voice of destiny from between
the mustache and imperial of the croupier, and
Gwendolen's arm was stretched to deposit her
last poor heap of napoleons. " Le jeu ne va plus,"
said destiny. And in five seconds Gwendolen
turned from the table, but turned resolutely with
her face towards Deronda and looked at him. There
was a smile of irony in his eyes as their glances
met; but it was at least better that he should have
kept his attention fixed on her than that he should
have disregarded her as one of an insect swarm who
had no individual physiognomy. Besides, in spite
of his superciliousness and irony, it was difficult to
believe that he did not admire her spirit as well as
her person : he was young, handsome, distinguished
in appearance, — not one of those ridiculous and
dowdy Philistines who thought it incumbent on
them to blight the gaming-table with a sour look
of protest as they passed by it. The general con-
viction that we are admirable does not easily give
way before a single negative ; rather, when any of
Vanity's large family, male or female, find their
performance received coldly, they are apt to believe

8 DANIEL DERONDA.

that a little more of it will win over tlie unaccoun-
table dissident. In Gwendolen's habits of mind it
had been taken for granted that she knew what was
admirable and that she herself was admired. This
basis of her thinking had received a disagreeable
concussion, and reeled a little, but was not easily to
be overthrown.

In the evening the same room was more stiflingly
heated, was brilliant with gas and with the costumes
of many ladies who floated their trains along it or
were seated on the ottomans.

I The Nereid in sea-green robes and silver orna-
ments, with a pale sea-green feather fastened in
silver falling backward over her green hat and
light-brown hair, was Gwendolen Harleth. She
was under the wing, or rather soared by the
shoulder, of the lady who had sat by her at the
roulette-table ; and with them was a gentleman with
a white mustache and clipped hair : solid-browed,
stiff, and German. They were walking about or
standing to chat with acquaintances ; and Gwen-
dolen was much observed by the seated groups.

" A striking girl — that Miss Harleth — unlike
others."

" Yes ; she has got herself up as a sort of serpent
now, all green and silver, and winds her neck about
a little more than usual."

" Oh, she must always be doing something extra-
ordinary. She is that kind of girl, I fancy. Do
you think her pretty, Mr. Vandernoodt ? "

"Very. A man might risk hanging for her, — I
mean, a fool might."

" You like a nez retrousse then, and long narrow
eyes ? "

" When they go with such an ensemhle."

THE SPOILED CHILD. 9

" The ensemble du serpent ? "

" If you will. Woman was tempted by a serpent :
why not man ? "

" She is certainly very graceful. But she wants
a tinge of colour in her cheeks : it is a sort of Lamia
beauty she has."

" On the contrary, I think her complexion one of
her chief charms. It is a warm paleness : it looks
thoroughly healthy. And that delicate nose with
its gradual little upward curve is distracting. And
then her mouth, — there never was a prettier mouth,
the lips curl backward so finely, eh, Mackworth ? "

" Think so ? I cannot endure that sort of movith.
It looks so self-complacent, as if it knew its own
beauty, — the curves are too immovable. I like a
mouth that trembles more."

" For my part I think her odious," said a dowager.
" It is wonderful what unpleasant girls get into
vogue. Who are these Langens ? Does anybody
know them ? "

" They are quite comme il faut. I have dined
with them several times at the Russie. The baroness
is English. Miss Harleth calls her cousin. The
girl herself is thoroughly well-bred, and as clever as
possible."

" Dear me ! And the baron ? "

" A very good furniture picture."

" Your baroness is always at the roulette-table,"
said Mackworth. " I fancy she has taught the girl
to gamble."

" Oh, the old woman plays a very sober game ;
drops a ten-franc piece here and there. The girl is
more headlong. But it is only a freak."

" I hear she has lost all her winnings to-day.
Are they rich ? Who knows ? "

lo DANIEL DERONDA.

" Ah, who knows ? who knows that about any-
body ? " said Mr. Vandernoodt, moving off to join the
Langens.

The remark that Gwendolen wound her neck
abinit more than usual this evening was true. But
it was not that she might carry out the serpent idea
more completely : it was that she watched for any
chance of seeing Deronda, so that she might inquire
about this stranger, under whose measuring gaze
she was still wincing. At last her opportunity came.

" Mr. Vandernoodt, you know everybody," said
Gwendolen, not too eagerly, rather with a certain
languor of utterance which she sometimes gave to
her clear soprano. " Who is that near the door ? "

" There are half-a-dozen near the door. Do you
mean that old Adonis in the George the Fourth
wig ? "

" No, no ; the dark-haired young man on the right
with the dreadful expression."

" Dreadful, do you call it ? I think he is an
uncommonly fine fellow."

" But who is he ? "

"He is lately come to our hotel with Sir Hugo
Mallinger."

" Sir Hugo Mallinger ? "

"Yes. Do you know him ? "

" No." (Gwendolen coloured slightly.) " He has
a place near us, but he never comes to it. What
did you say was the name of that gentleman near
the door ? "

" Deronda, — Mr. Deronda."

" What a delightful name ! Is he an English-
man ? "

"Yes. He is reported to be rather closely related
to the baronet. You are interested in him ? "

THE SPOILED CHILD. ii

"Yes. I think he is not like young men in
general."

" And you don't admire young men in general ? "

" Not in the least. I always know what they
will say. I can't at all guess what this Mr. Deronda
would say. What does he say ? "

" Nothing, chiefly. I sat with his party for a
good hour last night on the terrace, and he never
spoke — and was not smoking either. He looked
bored."

" Another reason why I should like to know him,
I am always bored."

" I should think he would be charmed to have an
introduction. Shall I bring it about ? Will you
allow it, baroness ? "

" Why not ? — since he is related to Sir Hugo
Mallinger. It is a new role of yours, Gwendolen,
to be always bored," continued Madame von Langen,
when Mr. Vandernoodt had moved away " Until
now you have always seemed eager about something
from morning till night."

"That is just because T am bored to death. If I
am to leave off play, I must break my arm or my
collar-bone. I must make something happen ; un-
less you will go into Switzerland and take me up
the Matterhorn."

" Perhaps this Mr, Deronda's acquaintance will
do instead of the Matterhorn."

"Perhaps."

But Gwendolen did not make Deronda's acquaint-
ance on this occasion. Mr. Vandernoodt did not
succeed in bringing him up to her that evening,
and when she re-entered her own room she found a
letter recalling her home.

CHAPTER 11.

" This man contrives a secret 'twixt us two,
That he may quell me with his meetmg eyes
Like one who quells a lioness at bay."

This was the letter Gwendolen found on her
table : —

Dearest Child, — I have been expecting to hear
from you for a week. In your last you said the Lan-
gens thought of leaving Leubronn and going to Baden.
How could you be so thoughtless as to leave me in
uncertainty about your address? I am in the greatest
anxiety lest this should not reach you. In any case 3''0U
were to come home at the end of September, and I must
now entreat you to return as quickly as possible, for if
you spent all your money it would be out of my power
to send you any more, and you must not borrow of the
Langens, for T could not repay them. This is the sad
truth, mj^ child — I wish I could prepare you for it
better — but a dreadful calamity has befallen us all.
You know nothing about business and will not under-
stand it; but Grapnell & Co. have failed for a million
and we are totally ruined — your aunt Gascoigne as
well as I, only that your uncle has his benefice, so that
by putting down their carriage and getting interest for
the boys, the family can go on. All the property our
poor father saved for us goes to pay the liabilities.
There is nothing I can call my own. It is better you
should know this at once, though it rends my heart to
have to tell it you. Of course we cannot help thinking
what a pity it was that you went away just when you
did. But I shall never reproach you, my dear childj

THE SPOILED CHILD. 13

I would save you from all trouble if I could. On your
way home you will have time to prepare yourself for
the change you will find. We shall perhaps leave
Offendene at once, for we hope that Mr. Haynes, who
wanted it before, may be ready to take it off my hands.
Of course we cannot go to the Rectory, — there is not a
corner there to spare. We must get some hut or other
to shelter us, and we must live on your uncle Gascoigne's
charity, until I see what else can be done. I shall not
be able to pay the debts to the tradesmen besides the
servants' wages. Summon up your fortitude, my dear
child; we must resign ourselves to God's will. But
it is hard to resign one's self to Mr. Lassman's wicked
recklessness, which they say was the cause of the fail-
ure. Your poor sisters can only cry with me and give
me no help. If you were once here, there might be a
break in the cloud. I always feel it impossible that
you can have been meant for poverty. If the Langens
wish to remain abroad, perhaps you can put yourself
under some one else's care for the journey. But come
as soon as you can to your afflicted and loving mamma,

Fannv Davilow.

The first effect of this letter on Gwendolen was
half stupefying. The implicit confidence that her
destiny must be one of luxurious ease, where any
trouble that occurred would be well clad and pro-
vided for, had been stronger in her own mind than
in her mamma's, being fed there by her youthful blood
and that sense of superior claims which made a
large part of her consciousness. It was almost as
difficult for her to believe suddenly that her position
had become one of poverty and humiliating depen-
dence, as it would have been to get into the strong
current of her blooming life the chill sense that her
death would really come She stood motionless for
a few minutes, then tossed off her hat and automati-

14 DANIEL DERONDA.

cally looked in the glass. The coils of her smooth
light-Lrown hair were still in order perfect enough
for a ball-room ; and as on other nights, Gwendolen
might have looked lingeringly at herself for pleasure
(surely an allowable indulgence) ; but now she took
no conscious note of her reflected beauty, and simply
stared right before her as if she had been jarred by
a hateful sound and was waiting for any sign of its
cause. By and by she threw herself in the corner
of the red velvet sofa, took up the letter again and
read it twice deliberately, letting it at last fall on
the ground, while she rested her clasped hands on
her lap and sat perfectly still, shedding no tears.
Her impulse was to survey and resist the situation
rather than to wail over it. There was no inward
exclamation of " Poor mamma ! " Her mamma had
never seemed to get much enjoyment out of life ;
and if Gwendolen had been at this moment disposed
to feel pity, she would have bestowed it on herself,
— for was she not naturally and rightfully the chief
object of her mamma's anxiety too ? But it was anger,
it was resistance, that possessed her ; it was bitter
vexation that she had lost her gains at roulette,
whereas if her luck had continued through this one
day she would have had a handsome sum to carry
home, or she might have gone on playing and won
enough to support them all. Even now was it not
possible ? She had only four napoleons left in her
purse, but she possessed some ornaments which she
could sell, — a practice so common in stylish society
at German baths that there was no need to be
ashamed of it ; and even if she had not received her
mamma's letter, she would probably liave decided to
get money for an Etruscan necklace which she hap-
pened not to have been wearing since her arrival ;

THE SPOILED CHILD. 15

nay, she might have done so with an agreeable sense
that she was living with some intensity and escap-
ing humdrum. With ten louis at her disposal and
a return of her former luck, which seemed probable,
what could she do better than go on playing for a
few days ? If her friends at home disapproved of
the way in which she got the money, as they cer-
tainly would, still the money would be there.
Gwendolen's imagination dwelt on this course and
created agreeable consequences, but not with unbro-
ken confidence and rising certainty, as it would have
done if she had been touched with the gambler's
mania. She had gone to the roulette-table not
because of passion, but in search of it : her mind
was still sanely capable of picturing balanced proba-
bilities, and while the chance of winning allured
her, the chance of losing thrust itself on her with
alternate strength, and made a vision from which
her pride shrank sensitively. For she was resolved
not to tell the Langens that any misfortune had
befallen her family, or to make herself in any way
indebted to their compassion ; and if she were to
part with her jewelry to any observable extent, they
would interfere by inquiries and remonstrances.
The course that held the least risk of intolerable
annoyance was to raise money on her necklace early
in the morning, tell the Langens that her mamma
desired her immediate return without giving a reason,
and take the train for Brussels that evening. She
had no maid with her, and the Langens might make
difficulties about her returning alone, but her will
was peremptory.

Instead of going to bed she made as brilliant a
light as she could and began to pack, working dili-
gently, though all the while visited by the scenes

i6 DANIEL DERONDA.

that might take place on the coming day, — now by
the tiresome explanations and farewells and the
whirling journey towards a changed home, now by
the alternative of staying just another day and
standing again at the roulette-table. But always
in this latter scene there was the presence of that
Deronda, watching her with exasperating irony,
and — the two keen experiences were inevitably
revived together — beholding her again forsaken
by luck. This importunate image certainly helped
to sway her resolve on the side of immediate
departure, and to urge her packing to the point
which would make a change of mind inconvenient.
It had struck twelve when she came into her room,
and by the time she was assuring herself that she
had left out only what was necessary, the faint dawn
was stealing through the white blinds and dulling
]ier candles. What was the use of going to bed ?
Her cold bath was refreshment enough, and she
saw that a slight trace of fatigue about the eyes
only made her look the more interesting. Before
six o'clock she was completely equipped in her gray
travelling dress even to her felt hat, for she meant
to walk out as soon as she could count on seeing
other ladies on their way to the springs. And
happening to be seated sideways before the long
strip of mirror between her two windows, she
turned to look at herself, leaning her elbow on the
back of the chair in an attitude that might have
been chosen for her portrait. It is possible to have
a strong self-love without any self-satisfaction, rather
with a self-discontent which is the more intense
because one's own little core of egoistic sensibility
is a supreme care ; but Gwendolen knew nothing
of such inward strife. She had a naive delight in

THE SPOILED CHILD. 17

her fortunate self, which any but the harshest
saintliness will have some indulgence for in a girl
who had every day seen a pleasant reflection of
that self in her friends' flattery as well as in the
looking-glass. And even in this beginning of
troubles, while for lack of anything else to do
she sat gazing at her image in the growing light,
her face gathered a complacency gradual as the
cheerfulness of the morning. Her beautiful lips
curled into a more and more decided smile, till
at last she took off her hat, leaned forward and
kissed the cold glass which had looked so warm.
How could she believe in sorrow ? If it attacked
her, she felt the force to crush it, to defy it, or run
away from it, as she had done already. Anything
seemed more possible than that she could go on
bearing miseries, great or small.

Madame von Langen never went out before break-
fast, so that Gwendolen could safely end her early
walk by taking her way homeward through the Obere
Strasse in which was the needed shop, sure to be
open after seven. At that hour any observers whom
she minded would be either on their walks in the
region of the springs, or would be still in their
bedrooms ; but certainly there was one grand hotel,
tlie Czarina, from which eyes might follow her up
to Mr. Wiener's door. This was a chance to be risked :
might she not be going in to buy something which
had struck her fancy ? This implicit falsehood
passed through her mind a.s she remembered that
the Czarina was Deronda's hotel ; but she was then
already far up the Obere Strasse, and she walked
on with her usual floating movement, every line
in her figure and drapery falling in gentle curves,
attractive to all eyes except those which discerned

VOL. I. — 2

i8 DANIEL DERONDA.

in them too close a resemblance to the serpent,
and objected to the revival of serpent-worship.
r She looked neither to the right hand nor to the
left, and transacted her business in the shop with
X, a coolness which gave little Mr. Wiener nothing
to remark except her proud grace of manner, and
the superior size and quality of the three central
turquoises in the necklace she offered him. They
had belonged to a chain once her father's ; but she
had never known her father, and the necklace was in
all respects the ornament she could most conven-
iently part with. Who supposes that it is an
impossible contradiction to be superstitious and
rationalizing at the same time ? Eoulette encour-
ages a romantic superstition as to the chances of the
game, and the most prosaic rationalism as to human
sentiments which stand in the way of raising need-
ful money. Gwendolen's dominant regret was that
after all she had only nine louis to add to the four
V'in her purse : these Jew dealers were so unscrupu-
lous in taking advantage of Christians unfortunate
at play ! But she was the Langens' guest in their
hired apartment, and had nothing to pay there :
thirteen louis would do more than take her home ;
even if she determined on risking three, the remain-
ing ten would more than suffice, .since she meant
to travel right on, day and night. As she turned
homewards, nay, entered and seated herself in the
salon to await lier friends and breakfast, she still
wavered as to her immediate departure, or rather
she had concluded to tell the Langens simply that
she had had a letter from her mamma desiring her
return, and to leave it still undecided when she
should start. It was . already the usual breakfast-
time, and hcarin" some one enter as she was lean-

THE SPOILED CHILD. 19

iug back rather tired and hungry with her eyes shut,
she rose expecting to see one or other of the Langens,
— the words which might determine her lingering
at least another day ready formed to pass her lips.
But it was the servant bringing in a small packet
for Miss Harleth, which had that moment been left
at the door. Gwendolen took it in her hand and
immediately hurried into her own room. She looked
paler and more agitated than when she had first
read her mamma's letter. Something — she never
quite knew what — revealed to her before she opened
the packet that it contained the necklace she had
just parted with. Underneath the paper it was
wrapt in a cambric handkerchief, and within this
was a scrap of torn-off note-paper, on which was
written with a pencil in clear but rapid handwriting :
"A stranger who has found Miss Harleth' s necklace
returns it to her luith the hope that she will not again
risk the loss of it."

Gwendolen reddened with the vexation of wounded
pride. A large corner of the handkerchief seemed
to have been recklessly torn off to get rid of a mark ;
but she at once believed in the first image of " the
stranger " that presented itself to her mind. It was
Deronda ; he must have seen her go into the shop ;
he must have gone in immediately after, and re-
purchased the necklace. He had taken an unpar-
donable liberty, and had dared to place her in a
thoroughly hateful position. What could she do ? —
Not, assuredly, act on her conviction that it was he
who had sent her the necklace and straightway send
it back to him : that would be to face the possibility
that she had been mistaken ; nay, even if the
"stranger" were he and no other, it would be some-
thing too gross for her to let him know that she

20 DANIEL DERONDA.

had divined this, and to meet him again with that
recognition in their minds. He knew very well that
he was entangling her in helpless humiliation : it was
another way of smiling at her ironically, and taking
the air of a supercilious mentor. Gwendolen felt the
bitter tears of mortification rising and rolling down
her cheeks. No one had ever before dared to treat
her with irony and contempt. One thing was clear :
she must carry out her resolution to quit this place
at once ; it was impossible for her to reappear in the
public salon, still less stand at the gaming-table with
the risk of seeing Deronda. Now came an impor-
tunate knock at the door : breakfast was ready.
Gwendolen with a passionate movement thrust neck-
lace, cambric, scrap of paper, and all into her n^ces-
saire, pressed her handkerchief against her face, and
after pausing a minute or two to summon back her
proud self-control, went to join her friends. Such
signs of tears and fatigue as were left seemed accor-
dant enough with the account she at once gave of
her having been called home, for some reason which
she feared might be a trouble of her mamma's ; and
of her having sat up to do her packing, instead
of waiting for help from her friend's maid. There
was much protestation, as she had expected, against
her travelling alone, but she persisted in refusing
any arrangements for companionship. She would
be put into the ladies' compartment and go right on.
She could rest exceedingly well in the train, and
was afraid of nothing.

In this way it happened that Gwendolen never
reappeared at the roulette-table, but that Thursday
evening left Leubronn for Brussels, and on Saturday
morning arrived at Offendene, the home to which
she and her family were soon to say a last good-by.

CHAPTER III.

Let no flower of the spring pass hy ns : let us crown ourselves
with rosebuds before they be withered. — Book of Wisdom.

Pity that Offendene was not the home of Miss
Harleth's childhood, or endeared to her by family
memories ! A human life, I think, should be well
rooted in some spot of a native land, where it may
get the love of tender kinship for the face of earth,
for the labours men go forth to, for the sounds and
accents that haunt it, for whatever will give that
early home a familiar unmistakable difference amidst
the future widening of knowledge : a spot where the
definiteness of early memories may be inwrought
with affection, and kindly acquaintance with all
neighbours, even to the dogs and donkeys, may
spread not by sentimental efibrt and reflection, but
as a sweet habit of the blood. At five years old,
mortals are not prepared to be citizens of the world,
to be stimulated by abstract nouns, to soar above
preference into impartiality ; and that prejudice in
favour of milk with which we blindly begin, is a
type of the way body and soul must get nourished
at least for a time. The best introduction to astron-
omy is to think of the nightly heavens as a little
lot of stars belonging to one's own homestead.

But this blessed persistence in which affection
can take root had been wanting in Gwendolen's
life. It was only a year before her recall from
Leubronn that Offendene had been chosen as her

22 DANIEL DERONDA.

mamma's home, simply for its nearness to Pennicote
Eectory, and that Mrs. Davilow, Gwendolen, and
her four half-sisters (the governess and the maid
following in another vehicle) had been driven along
the avenue for the first time, on a late October
afternoon when the rooks were cawing loudly above
them, and the yellow elm-leaves were whirling.

The season suited the aspect of the old oblong
red brick house, rather too anxiously ornamented
with stone at every line, not excepting the double
row of narrow windows and the large scjuare portico.
The stone encouraged a greenish lichen, the brick a
powdery gray, so that though the building was
rigidly rectangular there was no harshness in the
physiognomy which it turned to the three avenues
cut east, west, and south in the hundred yards'
breadth of old plantation encircling the immediate
grounds. One would have liked the liouse to have
been lifted on a knoll, so as to look beyond its own
little domain to the long thatched roofs of the
distant villages, the church towers, the scattered
homesteads, the gradual rise of surging woods, and
the green breadths of undulating park which made
the beautiful face of the earth in that part of Wes-
sex. But though standing thus behind a screen
amid Hat pastures, it had on one side a glimpse of
the wider world in the lofty curves of the chalk
downs, grand steadfast forms played over by the
changing days.

The house was but. just large enough to be called
a mansion, and was moderately rented, having no
manor attached to it, and being rather difficult to
let with its sombre furniture and faded upholstery.
But inside and outside it was what no beholder could
suppose to be inhabited by retired tradespeople :

THE SPOILED CHILD. 23

a certainty which was worth mauy conveuieiices to
tenants who not only had the taste that shrinks
from new finery, but also were in that border-
territory of rank where annexation is a burning
topic ; and to take up her abode in a house which
had once sufficed for dowager countesses gave a
perceptible tinge to Mrs. Davilow's satisfaction in
having an establishment of her own. This, rather
mysteriously to Gwendolen, appeared suddenly possi-
ble on the death of her step-father Captain Davilow,
who had for the last nine years joined his family
only in a brief and fitful manner, enough to reconcile
them to his long absences ; but she cared much
more for the fact than for the explanation. All her
prospects had become more agreeable in consequence.
She had disliked their former way of life, roving
from one foreign watering-place or Parisian apart-
ment to another, always feeling new antipathies to
new suites of hired furniture, and meeting new
people under conditions which made her appear of
little importance ; and the variation of having passed
two years at a showy school, where on all occasions
of display she had been put foremost, had only
deepened her sense that so exceptional a person as
herself could hardly remain in ordinary circum-
stances or in a social position less than advantageous.
Any fear of this latter evil was banished now that
her mamma was to have an establishment ; for on
the point of birth Gwendolen was quite easy. She
had no notion how her maternal grandfather got the
fortune inherited by his two daughters ; but he had
been a West Indian — which seemed to exclude
further question ; and she knew that her father's
family was so high as to take no notice of her
mamma, w^ho nevertheless preserved with much

24 DANIEL DERONDA.

pride the miniature of a Lady Molly in that connec-
tion. Slie would probably have known much more
about her father but for a little incident which
happened when she was twelve years old. Mrs.
Davilow had brought out, as she did only at wide
intervals, various memorials of her first husband,
and while showing his miniature to Gwendolen
recalled, with a fervour which seemed to count on a
peculiar filial sympathy, the fact that dear papa had
died when his little daughter was in long clothes.
Gwendolen, immediately thinking of the unlovable
step-father whom she had been acquainted with the
greater part of her life while her frocks were short,
said, —

" Why did you marry again, mamma ? It would
have been nicer if you had not."

Mrs. Davilow coloured deeply, a slight convulsive
movement passed over her face, and straightway
shutting up the memorials, she said, with a violence
quite unusual in her, —

" You have no feeling, child ! "

Gwendolen, who was fond of her mamma, felt
hurt and ashamed, and had never since dared to
ask a question about her father.

This was not the only instance in which she had
brought on herself the pain of some filial compunc-
tion. It was always arranged, when possible, that
she should have a small bed in her mamma's room ;
for Mrs. Davilow's motherly tenderness clung
chiefly to her eldest girl, who had been born in her
happier time. One night under an attack of pain
she found that the specific regularly placed by her
bedside had been forgotten, and begged Gwendolen
to get out of bed and reach it for her. That healthy
young lady, snug and warm as a rosy infant in her

THE SPOILED CHILD. 25

little couch, objected to step out into the cold,'\
and lying perfectly still, grumbled a refusal. Mrs./
Davilow went without the medicine, and never
reproached her daughter ; but the next day Gwen-
dolen was keenly conscious of what must be in her
mamma's mind, and tried to make .amends by
caresses which cost her no effort. Having always
been the pet and pride of the household, waited on
by mother, sisters, governess, and maids, as if she
had been a princess in exile, she naturally found it
difficult to think her own pleasure less important
than others made it, and when it was positively
thwarted felt an astonished resentment apt, in her
cruder days, to vent itself in one of those passion-
ate acts which look like a contradiction of habitual
tendencies. Though never even as a child thought-
lessly cruel, nay, delighting to rescue drowning
insects and watch their recovery, there was a dis-
agreeable silent remembrance of her having strangled
her sister's canary-bird in a final fit of exasperation
at its shrill singing which had again and again jar-
ringly interrupted her own. She had taken pains to
buy a white mouse for her sister in retribution, and
though inwardly excusing herself on the ground of
a peculiar sensitiveness which was a mark of her
general superiority, the thought of that infelonious
murder had always made her wince. Gwendolen's
nature was not remorseless, but she liked to make
her penances easy, and now that she was twenty
and more, some of her native force had turned into
a self-control by which she guarded herself from
penitential humiliation. There was more show of
fire and will in her than ever, but there was more
calculation underneath it.

On this day of arrival at Otfendene, which not

26 DANIEL DERONDA.

even Mrs. Davilow had seen before, — the place
having been taken for her by her brother-in-law Mr.
Gascoigne, — when all had got down from the car-
riage, and were standing under the porch in front
of tlie open door, so that they could have both a
general view of the place and a glimpse of the stone
hall and staircase hung with sombre pictures, but
enlivened by a bright wood fire, no one spoke :
mamma, the four sisters, and the governess all
looked at Gwendolen, as if their feelings depended
entirely on her decision. Of the girls, from Alice in
her sixteenth year to Isabel in her tenth, hardly
anything could be said on a first view, but that they
were girlish, and that their black dresses were get-
ting shabby. Miss Merry was elderly, and altogether
neutral in expression. Mrs. Davilow's worn beauty
seemed the more pathetic for the look of entire
appeal which she cast at Gwendolen, who was
glancing round at the house, the landscape, and
the entrance-hall with an air of rapid judgment.
Imagine a young race-horse in the paddock among
untrimmed ponies and patient hacks.

" Well, dear, what do you think of the place ? "
said Mrs. Davilow at last, in a gentle deprecatory
tone.

" I think it is charming," said Gwendolen, quickly.
" A romantic place ; anything delightful may happen
in it ; it would be a good background for anything.
No one need be ashamed of living here."

" There is certainly nothing common about it."

" Oh, it would do for fallen royalty or any sort of
grand poverty. We ought properly to have been liv-
ing in splendour, and have come down to this. It
would have been as romantic as could be. But I
thought my uncle and aunt Gascoigne would be here

THE SPOILED CHILD. 27

to meet us, and my cousin Anna," added Gwendolen,
her tone changed to sharp surprise.

" We are early," said Mrs. Davilow ; and entering
the hall, she said to the housekeeper, who came
forward, " You expect Mr. and Mrs. Gascoigne ? "

" Yes, madam : they were here yesterday to give
particular orders about the fires and the dinner.
But as to fires, I 've had 'em in all the rooms for
the last week, and everything is well aired I
could wish some of the furniture paid better for all
the cleaning it 's had, bvit I think you 11 see the
brasses have been done justice to. I think, when
Mr. and Mrs. Gascoigne come, they '11 tell you noth-
ing 's been neglected. They '11 be here at five, for
certain."

This satisfied Gwendolen, who was not prepared
to have their arrival treated with indifference ; and
after tripping a little way up the matted stone stair-
case to take a survey there, she tripped down again,
and followed by all the girls looked into each of
the rooms opening from the hall, — the dining-
room all dark oak and worn red satin damask, with
a copy of snarling, worrying dogs from Snyders
over the sideboard, and a Christ breaking bread over
the mantelpiece ; the library with a general aspect
and smell of old brown leather ; and lastly, the
drawing room, which was entered through a small
antechamber crowded with venerable knick-knacks.

" Mamma, mamma, pray come here ! " said Gwen-
dolen, Mrs. Davilow having followed slowly in talk
with the housekeeper. " Here is an organ. I will
be Saint Cecilia : some one shall paint me as Saint
Cecilia. Jocosa (this was her name for Miss
Merry), let down my hair. See, mamma ! "

She had thrown off her hat and gloves, and seated

28 DANIEL DERONDA.

herself before the organ in an admirable pose, look-
ing upward ; while the submissive and sad Jocosa
took out the one comb which fastened the coil of
hair, and then shook out the mass till it fell in a
smooth light-brown stream far below its owner's
slim waist.

Mrs. Davilow smiled and said, " A charming pic-
ture, my dear ! " not indifferent to the display of
her pet, even in the presence of a housekeeper.
Gwendolen rose and laughed with delight. All
this seemed quite to the purpose on entering a new
house which was so excellent a background.

" What a queer, quaint, picturesque room ! " she
went on, looking about her. "I like these old
embroidered chairs, and the garlands on the wains-
cot, and the pictures that may be anything. That
one with the ribs — nothing but ribs and darkness
— I should think that is Spanisli, mamma."

" Oh, Gwendolen ! " said the small Isabel, in a
tone of astonishment, while she held open a hinged
panel of the wainscot at the other end of the room.

Every one, Gwendolen first, went to look. The
opened panel had disclosed the picture of an upturned
dead face, from which an obscure figure seemed
to be fleeing with outstretched arms. " How horri-
ble ! " said Mrs. Davilow, with a look of mere
disgust ; but Gwendolen shuddered silently, and
Isabel, a plain and altogether inconvenient child
with an alarming memor}^ said, —

" You will never stay in this room by yourself,
Gwendolen."

" How dare you open things which were meant
to be shut up, you perverse little creature ? " said
Gwendolen, in her angriest tone. Then snatching
the panel out of the hand of the culprit, she closed

THE SPOILED CHILD. 29

it hastily, saying, " There is a lock, — where is the
key ? Let the key be found, or else let one be
made, and let nobody open it again ; or rather, let
the key be brought to me."

At this command to everybody in general Gwen-
dolen turned with a face which was flushed in
reaction from her chill shudder, and said, " Let us
go up to our own room, mamma."

The housekeeper on searching found the key in
the drawer of a cabinet close by the panel, and pres-
ently handed it to Bugle, the lady's maid, telling
her significantly to give it to her Royal Highness.

" I don't know who you mean, Mrs. Startin," said
Bugle, who had been busy upstairs during the scene
in the drawing-room, and was rather offended at this
irony in a new servant.

" I mean the young lady that 's to command us
all — and well worthy for looks and figure," replied
Mrs. Startin, in propitiation. " She '11 know what
key it is."

" If you have laid out what we want, go and see
to the others. Bugle," Gwendolen had said, when
she and Mrs. Davilow entered their black and
yellow bedroom, where a pretty little white couch
was prepared by the side of the black and yellow
catafalque known as " the best bed." " I will help
mamma."

But her first movement was to go to the tall
mirror between the windows, which reflected her-
self and the room completely, while her mamma
sat down and also looked at the reflection.

" That is a becoming glass, Gwendolen ; or is it
the black and gold colour that sets you off ? " said
Mrs. Davilow, as Gwendolen stood obliquely with
her three-quarter face turned towards the mirror,

30 DANIEL DEKONDA.

and her left hand brushing back the stream of
hair.

" I should make a tolerable Saint Cecilia with
some white roses on my head," said Gwendolen,
— " only, how about my nose, mamma ? I think
saints' noses never in the least turn up. I wish
you had given me your perfectly straight nose ; it
would have done for any sort of character, — a
nose of all work. Mine is only a happy nose ; it
WXLuld not do so well for tragedy."

"Oh, my dear, any nose will do to be miserable
with in this world," said Mrs. Davilow, with a deep,
weary sigh, throwing lier black bonnet on the table,
and resting her elbow near it.

" Now, mamma," said Gwendolen, in a strongly
remonstrant tone, turning away from the glass
with an air of vexation, "don't begin to be dull
here. It spoils all my pleasure, and everything
may be so happy now. What have you to be
gloomy about now?"

" Nothing, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, seeming to
rouse herself, and beginning to take off her dress.
"It is always enough for me to see you happy."

"But you should be happy yourself," said Gwen-
dolen, still discontentedly, though going to help
her mamma with caressing touches. " Can nobody
be happy after they are quite young? You have
made me feel sometimes as if nothing were of
any use. With the girls so troublesome, and
Jocosa so dreadfully wooden and ugly, and every-
thing makeshift about us, and you looking so
dull, — what was the use of my being anything?
But now you might be happy."

" So I shall, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, patting the
cheek that was bending near her.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 31

"Yes, but really. Not with a sort of make-
believe," said Gwendolen, with resolute persever-
ance. " See what a hand and arm! — much more
beautiful than mine. Any one can see you were
altogether more beautiful."

" No, no, dear ; I was always heavier. Never half
so charming as you are."

" Well, but what is the use of my being charming,
if it is to end in my being dull and not minding
anything ? Is that what marriage always comes to ? "

" No, child, certainly not. Marriage is the only
happy state for a woman, as I trust you will prove."

" I will not put up with it if it is not a happy
state. I am determined to be happy, — at least,
not to go on muddling away my life as other people
do, being and doing nothing remarkable. I have
made up my mind not to let other people interfere
with me as they have done. Here is some warm
water ready for you, mamma," Gwendolen ended,
proceeding to take off her own dress and then wait-
ing to have her hair wound up by her mamma.

There was silence for a minute or two, till Mrs.
Davilow said, while coiling the daughter's hair, " I
am sure I have never crossed you, Gwendolen."

" You often want me to do what I don't like."

" You mean, to give Alice lessons ? "

" Yes. And I have done it because you asked me.
But I don't see why I should, else. It bores me to
death, she is so slow. She has no ear for music,
or language, or anything else. It would be much
better for her to be ignorant, mamma: it is her
role, she would do it well."

" That is a hard thing to say of your poor sister,
Gwendolen, who is so good to you, and waits on you
hand and foot."

32 DANIEL DERONDA.

" I don't see why it is hard to call things by their
right names, and put them in their proper places.
The hardship is for me to have to waste my time
on her. Now let me fasten up your hair, mamma."

" We must make haste ; your uncle and aunt will
be here soon. For heaven's sake, don't be scornful to
them, my dear child ! or to your cousin Anna, whom
you will always be going out with. Do promise
me, Gwendolen. You know, you can't expect
Anna to be equal to you."

" I don't want her to be equal," said Gwendolen,
with a toss of her head and a smile ; and the dis-
cussion ended there.

When Mr. and Mrs. Gascoigne and their daughter
came, Gwendolen, far from being scornful, behaved
as prettily as possible to them. She was introduc-
ing herself anew to relatives who had not seen her
since the comparatively unfinished age of sixteen,
and she was anxious — no, not anxious, but resolved,
— that they should admire her.

Mrs. Gascoigne bore a family likeness to her
sister ; but she was darker and slighter, her face
was unworn by grief, her movements were less
languid, her expression more alert ana critical as
that of a rector's wife bound to exert a beneficent
r authority. Their closest resemblance lay in a non-
; resistant disposition, inclined to imitation and
/ obedience ; but this, owing to the difference in
their circumstances, had led them to very differ-
ent issues. The younger vsister had been indiscreet,
or, at least, unfortunate in her marriages ; the elder
believed herself the most enviable of wives, and
her pliancy had ended in her sometimes taking
shapes of surprising definitcness. Many of her
(([liiiions, such as those on church government and

THE SPOILED CHILD. 33

the character of Archbishop Laud, seemed too
decided under every alteration to have been arrived
at otherwise than by a wifely receptiveness. And
there was much to encourage trust in her husband's
authority. He had some agreeable virtues, some
striking advantages ; and the failings that were
imputed to him all leaned towards the side of
success.

One of his advantages was a fine person, which
perhaps was even more impressive at fifty-seven
than it had been earlier in life. There were no
distinctively clerical lines in the face, no ofticial
reserve or ostentatious benignity of expression, no
tricks of starchiness or of affected ease : in his
Inverness cape he could not have been identified
except as a gentleman with handsome dark features,
a nose which began with an intention to be aquiline
but suddenly became straight, and iron-gray hair.
Perhaps he owed this freedom from the sort of
professional make-up which penetrates skin tones
and gestures and defies all drapery, to the fact that
he had once been Captain Gaskin, having taken
orders and a diphthong but shortly before his
engagement to Miss Armyn. If any one had
objected that his preparation for the clerical func-
tion was inadequate, his friends might have asked
who made a better figure in it, who preached better
or had more authority in his parish ? He had a
native gift for administration, being tolerant both
of opinions and conduct, because he felt himself
able to overrule them, and was free from the
irritations of conscious feebleness. He smiled
pleasantly at the foible of a taste which he did
not share, — at fioriculture or antiquarianism, for
example, which were much in vogue among his

VOL. I. — 3

34 DANIEL DERONDA.

fellow-clergymen in the diocese : for himself, he
preferred following the history of a campaign, or
divining from his knowledge of Nesselrode's motives
what would have been his conduct if our cabinet
had taken a different course. Mr. Gascoigne's tone
of thinking after some long-quieted fluctuations had
become ecclesiastical rather than theological ; not
the modern Anglican, but what he would have
called sound English, free from nonsense : such as
became a man who looked at a national religion
by daylight, and saw it in its relations to other
things. No clerical magistrate had greater weight
at sessions, or less of mischievous impracticableness
in relation to worldly affairs. Indeed, the worst
imputation thrown out against him was worldli-
ness : it could not be proved that he forsook the
less fortunate, but it was not to be denied that the
friendships he cultivated were of a kind likely
to be useful to the father of six sons and two
', daughters ; and bitter observers — for in Wessex,
\ say ten years ago, there were persons whose bitter-
ness may now seem incredible — remarked that the
colour of his opinions had changed in consistency
with this principle of action. But cheerful, success-
ful worldliness has a false air of being more selfish
than the acrid, unsuccessful kind, whose secret
history is summed up in the terrible words, "Sold,
but not paid for."

Gwendolen wondered that she had not better
remembered how very fine a man her uncle was ;
but at the age of sixteen she was a less capable and
more indifferent judge. At present it was a matter
of extreme interest to her that she was to have the
near countenance of a dignified male relative, and
that the family life would cease to be entirely, in-

THE SPOILED CHILD. 35

sipidly feminine. She did not intend that her uncle
should control her, but she saw at once that it would
be altogether agreeable to her that he should be
proud of introducing her as his niece. And there
was every sign of his being likely to feel that pride.
He certainly looked at her with admiration as he
said, —

"You have outgrown Anna, my dear," putting
his arm tenderly round his daughter, whose shy
face was a tiny copy of his own, and drawing her
forward. "She is not so old as you by a year, but
her growing days are certainly over. I hope you
will be excellent companions."

He did give a comparing glance at his daugh-
ter, but if he saw her inferiority, he might also see
that Anna's timid appearance and miniature figure
must appeal to a different taste from that which
was attracted by Gwendolen, and that the girls
could hardly be rivals. Gwendolen, at least, was
aware of this, and kissed her cousin with real cor-
diality as well as grace, saying : " A companion is
just what I want. I am so glad we are come to
live here. And mamma will be much happier now
she is near you, aunt."

The aunt trusted indeed that it would be so, and
felt it a blessing that a suitable home had been
vacant in their uncle's parish. Then, of course,
notice had to be taken of the four other girls, whom \
Gwendolen had always felt to be superfluous : all \
of a girlish average that made four units utterly
unimportant, and yet from her earliest days an ob- .
trusive influential fact in her life. She was con-'
scious of having been much kinder to them than
could have been expected. And it was evident to
her that her uncle and aunt also felt it a pity there

36 DANIEL DERONDA.

were so many girls, — what rational person could
feel otherwise, except poor mamma, who never would
see how Alice set up her shoulders and lifted her
eyebrows till she had no forehead left, how Bertha
and Fanny whispered and tittered together about
everything, or how Isabel was always listening and
staring and forgetting where she was, and treading
on the toes of her suffering elders ?

" You have brothers, Anna," said Gwendolen,
while the sisters were being noticed. " I think you
are enviable there."

" Yes," said Anna, simply. " I am very fond of
them ; but of course their education is a great anxi-
ety to papa. He used to say they made me a tom-
boy. I really was a great romp with Eex. I think
you will like Hex. He will come home before
Christmas."

" I remember I used to think you rather wild and
shy ; but it is difficult now to imagine you a romp,"
said Gwendolen, smiling.

" Of course I am altered now ; I am come out,
and all that. But in reality I like to go blackberry-
ing with Edwy and Lotta as well as ever. I am
not very fond of going out ; but I dare say I shall
like it better now you will be often with me. I am
not at all clever, and I never know what to say. It
seems so useless to say what everybody knows, and I
can think of nothing else, except what papa says."
"■■ " I sliall like going out with you very much," said
Gwendolen, well disposed towards this naive cousin,
" Are you fond of riding ? "

"Yes, but we have only one Shetland pony
amongst us. Papa says he can't afford more, be-
sides the carriage-horses and his own nag; he has
so many expenses."

THE SPOILED CHILD. 37

"I intend to have a horse and ride a great deal
now," said Gwendolen, in a tone of decision. " Is
the society pleasant in this neighbourhood ? "

" Papa says it is, very. There are the clergymen
all about, you know ; and the Quallons, and the
Arrowpoints, and Lord Brackenshaw, and Sir Hugo
Mallinger's place, where there is nobody — that's
very nice, because we make picnics there — and
two or three families at Wanchester ; oh, and old
Mrs. Vulcany at Nuttingwood, and — "

But Anna was relieved of this tax on her descrip-
tive powers by the announcement of dinner, and
Gwendolen's question was soon indirectly answered
by her uncle, who dwelt much on the advantages
he had secured for them in getting a place like
Offendene. Except the rent it involved no more
expense than an ordinary house at Wanchester
would have done.

" And it is always worth while to make a little
sacrifice for a good style of house," said Mr. Gas-
coigne, in his easy, pleasantly confident tone, which
made the world in general seem a very manageable
place of residence ; " especially where there is only
a lady at the head. All the best people will call
upon you ; and you need give no expensive dinners.
Of course I have to spend a good deal in that way ;
it is a large item. But then I get my house for
nothing. If I had to pay three hundred a-year for
my house I could not keep a table. My boys are
too great a drain on me. You are better off than
we are, in proportion ; there is no great drain on
you now, after your house and carriage."

" I assure you, Fanny, now the children are grow-
ing up, I am obliged to cut and contrive," said Mrs.
Gascoigne. " I am not a good manager by nature,

- 9 i^ y «i C
X ^ J G r^ ^

38 DANIEL DERONDA.

but Henry has taught me. He is wonderful for
making the best of everything ; he allows himself
no extras, and gets his curates for nothing. It is
rather hard that he has not been made a prebendary
or something, as others have been, considering the
friends he has made, and the need there is for men
of moderate opinions in all respects. If the Church
is to keep its position, ability and character ought
to tell."

"Oh, my dear Nancy, you forget the old story, —
thank Heaven, there are three hundred as good as I.
And ultimately we shall have no reason to com-
plain, I am pretty sure. There could hardly be a
more thorough friend than Lord Brackenshaw, —
your landlord, you know, Fanny. Lady Bracken-
shaw will call upon you. And I have spoken for
Gwendolen to be a member of our Archery Club, —
the Brackenshaw Archery Club, — the most select
thing anywhere. That is, if she has no objection,"
added Mr. Gascoigne, looking at Gwendolen with
pleasant irony.

" I should like it, of all things," said Gwendolen.
" There is nothing I enjoy more than taking aim —
and hitting," she ended, with a pretty nod and smile.

" Our Anna, poor child, is too short-sighted for
archery. But I consider myself a first-rate shot,
and you shall practise with me. I must make you
an accomplished archer before our great meeting
in July. In fact, as to neighbourhood, you could
hardly be better placed. There are the Arrowpoints,
— they are some of our best people. Miss Arrow-
point is a delightful girl, — she has been presented at
Court. They have a magnificent place, — Quetcham
Hall, — worth seeing in point of art ; and their par-
ties, to which you are sure to be invited, are the

THE SPOILED CHILD. 39

best things of the sort we have. The archdeacon
is intimate there, and they have always a good kind
of people staying in the house. Mrs. Arrowpoint is
peculiar, certainly, — something of a caricature, in
fact, — but well-meaning. And Miss Arrowpoint is
as nice as possible. It is not all young ladies who
have mothers as handsome and graceful as yours
and Anna's."

Mrs. Davilow smiled faintly at this little com-
pliment ; but the husband and wife looked affection-
ately at each other, and Gwendolen thought, " My
uncle and aunt, at least, are happy : they are not
dull and dismal." Altogether she felt satisfied with
her prospects at Offeudene, as a great improvement
on anything she had known. Even the cheap cu-
rates, she incidentally learned, were almost always
young men of family ; and Mr. Middleton, the actual
curate, was said to be quite an acquisition : it was
only a pity he was so soon to leave.

But there was one point which she was so anxious
to gain that she could not allow the evening to pass
without takincr her measures towards securing it.
Her mamma, she knew, intended to submit entirely
to her uncle's judgment with regard to expenditure ;
and the submission was not merely prudential, for
Mrs. Davilow, conscious that she had always been
seen under a cloud as poor dear Fanny, who had
made a sad blunder with her second marriage, felt
a hearty satisfaction in being frankly and cordially
identified with her sister's family, and in having her
affairs canvassed and managed with an authority
which presupposed a genuine interest. Thus the
question of a suitable saddle-horse, which had been
sufficiently discussed with mamma, had to be re-
ferred to Mr. Gascoigne ; and after Gwendolen had

40 DANIEL DERONDA.

played on the piano, which had heen provided from
Wanchester, had sung to her hearers' admiration,
and had induced her uncle to join her in a duet, —
what more softening influence than this on any
uncle who would have sung finely if his time had
not been too much taken up by graver matters ?
— she seized the opportune moment for saying,
" Mamma, you have not spoken to my uncle about
my riding."

" Gwendolen desires above all things to have a
horse to ride, — -a pretty, light lady's horse," said
Mrs. Davilow, looking at Mr. Gascoigne. " Do
you think we can manage it ? "

Mr. Gascoigne projected his lower lip and lifted
his handsome eyebrows sarcastically at Gwendolen,
who had seated herself with much grace on the
elbow of her mamma's chair.

" We could lend her the pony sometimes, " said
Mrs. Gascoigne, watching her husband's face, and
feeling quite ready to disapprove if he did.

" That might be inconveniencing others, aunt,

and would be no pleasure to me. I cannot endure

ponies, " said Gwendolen. " I would rather give

up some other indulgence and have a horse. "

{(Was there ever a young lady or gentleman not

Already to give up an unspecified indulgence for the

I sake of the favourite one specified ? )

y""' She rides so well. She has had lessons, and

the riding-master said she had so good a seat and

hand she might be trusted with any mount, " said

Mrs. Davilow, who, even if she had not wished

her darling to have the horse, would not have

dared to be lukewarm in trying to get it for her.

" There is the price of the horse, — a good sixty
with the best chance, and then his keep, " said Mr.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 41

Gascoigne, in a tone which, though demurring,
betrayed the inward presence of something that
favoured the demand. " There are the carriage-
horses, already a heavy item. And remember what
you ladies cost in toilet now. "

" I really wear nothing but two black dresses, "
said Mrs. Davilow, hastily. " And the younger
girls, of course, reqviire no toilet at present. Be-
sides, Gwendolen will save me so much by giving
her sisters lessons. " Here Mrs. Davilow 's delicate
cheek showed a rapid blush. " If it were not for
that, I must really have a more expensive gover-
ness, and masters besides. "

Gwendolen felt some anger with her mamma,
but carefully concealed it.

" That is good, — that is decidedly good, " said
Mr. Gascoigne, heartily, looking at his wife. And
Gwendolen, who, it must be owned, was a deep
young lady, suddenly moved away to the other
end of the long drawing-room, and busied herself
with arranging pieces of music.

" The dear child has had no indulgences, no
pleasures, " said Mrs. Davilow, in a pleading un-
dertone. " I feel the expense is rather imprudent
in this first year of our settling. But she really
needs the exercise, — she needs cheering. And if
you were to see her on horseback, it is something
splendid. "

" It is what we could not afford for Anna, " said
Mrs. Gascoigne. " But she, dear child, would
ride Lotta's donkey, and think it good enough. "
(Anna was absorbed in a game with Isabel, who
had hunted out an old backgammon-board, and had
begged to sit up an extra hour. )

" Certainly, a fine woman never looks better

42 DANIEL DERONDA.

than on horseback," said Mr. Gascoione. "And
Gwendolen has the figure for it. I don't say the
thing should not be considered. "

" We- might try it for a time, at all events. It
can be given up, if necessary, " said Mrs. Davilow.

" Well, I will consult Lord Brackenshaw's head
groom. He is my Jidus Achates in the horsey
way. "

" Thanks, " said Mrs. Davilow, much relieved.
" You are very kind. "

" That he always is, " said Mrs. Gascoigne. And
later that night, when she and her husband were
in private, she said, —

" I thought you were almost too indulgent about
the horse for Gwendolen. She ought not to claim
so much more than your own daughter would think
of. Especially before we see how Fanny manages
on her income. And yon really have enough to
do without taking all this trouble on yourself. "

" My dear Nancy, one must look at things from
every point of view. This girl is really worth
some expense : you don't often see her equal. She
ought to make a first-rate marriage, and I should
not be doing my duty if I spared my trouble in
helping her forward. You know yourself she has
been under a disadvantage with such a father-in-
law, and a second family, keeping her always in
the shade. I feel for the girl. And I should like
your sister and lier family now to have the benefit
of your having married rather a better specimen of
our kind than she did. "

" Eather better ! I should think so. However,
it is for me to be grateful that you will take so
much on your shoulders for the 'fake of my sister
and her children. I am sure I would not srudiie

THE SPOILED CHILD. 43

anything to poor Fanny. But there is one thing
I have been thinking of, though you have never
mentioned it. "

" What is that ? " v.

" The boys. I hope they will not be falling in \>
love with Gwendolen. " /

" Don't presuppose anything of the kind, my
dear, and there will be no danger. Eex will never
be at home for long together, and Warham is going
to India. It is the wiser plan to take it for
granted that cousins will not fall in love. If you
begin with precautions, the affair will come in
spite of them. One must not undertake to act for
Providence in these matters, which can no more
be held under the hand than a brood of chickens.
The boys will have nothing, and Gwendolen will
have nothing. They can't marry. At the worst
there would only l)e a little crying, and you can't
save boys and girls from that."

Mrs. Gascoigne's mind was satisfied : if any-
thing did happen, there was the comfort of feeling
that her husband would know what was to be done
and would have the energy to do it.

CHAPTER IV.

Gorgibus. . . . Je te dis que le mariage est una chose sainte et
sacre'e, et que c'est faire en honnetes gens, que de de'buter par la.

Madelon. Mon Dieu ! que si tout le nionde vous ressemlilait,
un roman serait bientot fini ! La belle chose que ce serait, si
d'abord Cyrus epousait Maudane, et qu'Aronce de plain-pied fCit
marie a Clelie ! . . Laissez nous faire k loisir le tissu de uotre
roman, et n'en pressez pas taut la conclusion.

MoLiiiRE : Les Pr^cieuses Ridicules.

It would be a little hard to blame the Eector of
Pennicote that in the course of looking at things
from every point of view, he looked at Gwendolen
as a girl likely to make a brilliant marriage. Why
should he be expected to differ from his contempo-
raries in this matter, and wish his niece a worse
end of her charming maidenhood than they would
approve as the best possible ? It is rather to be
set down to his credit that his feelings on the sub-
ject were entirely good-natured. And in consider-
ing the relation of means to ends, it would have
been mere folly to have been guided by the excep-
tional and idyllic, — to have recommended that
Gwendolen should wear a gown as shabby as
Griselda's in order that a marquis might fall in
love with her, or to have insisted that since a fair
maiden was to be sought, she should keep herself
out of the way. Mr. Gascoigne's calculations
were of the kind called rational, and he did not
even think of getting a too frisky horse in order
that Gwendolen might lie threatened v/ith an ac-
cident and be rescued by a man of property.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 45

He wished his niece well, and he meant her to
be seen to advantage in the best society of the
neighbourhood.

Her uncle's intention fell in perfectly with
Gwendolen's own wishes. But let no one suppose
that she also contemplated a brilliant marriage as
the direct end of her witching the world with her
grace on horseback, or with any other accomplish-
ment. That she was to be married some time or
other she would have felt obliged to admit ; and
that her marriage would not be of a middling kind,
such as most girls were contented with, she felt
quietly, unargumentatively sure. But her thoughts
never dwelt on marriage as the fulfilment of her
ambition ; the dramas in which she imagined her-
self a heroine were not wrought up to that close.
To be very much sued or hopelessly sighed for as a
bride was indeed an indispensable and agreeable /
guarantee of womanly power ; but to become a ;
wife and wear all the domestic fetters of that con-
dition, was on the whole a vexatious necessity. \
Her observation of matrimony had inclined her to \
think it rather a dreary state, in which a woman
could not do what she liked, had more children than
were desirable, was consequently dull, and became
irrevocably immersed in humdrum. Of course
marriage was social promotion ; she could not look
forward to a single life ; but promotions have some-
times to be taken with bitter herbs, — a peerage
will not quite do instead of leadership to the man
who meant to lead ; and this delicate-limbed sylph
of twenty meant to lead. For such passions dwell
in feminine breasts also. In Gwendolen's, how-
ever, they dwelt among strictly feminine furniture,
and had no disturbins: reference to the advance-

46 DANIEL DERONDA.

ment of learning or the balance of the constitution ;
her knowledge being such as with no sort of stand-
ing-room or length of lever could have been ex-
pected to move the world. She meant to do what
was pleasant to herself in a striking manner ; or
rather whatever she could do so as to strike others
with admiration and get in that reflected way a
more ardent sense of living, seemed pleasant to
her fancy.

" Gwendolen will not rest without having the
world at her feet, " said Miss Merry, the meek
governess, — hyperbolical words which have long
come to carry the most moderate meanings ; for
who has not heard of private persons having the
world at their feet in the shape of some half-dozen
items of flattering regard generally known in a
genteel suburb ? And words could hardly be too
wide or vague to indicate the prospect that made
a hazy largeness about poor Gwendolen on the
heights of her young self-exultation. Other people
allowed themselves to be made slaves of, and to
have their lives blown hither and thither like
empty ships in which no will was present: it was
not to be so with her, she would no longer be
sacrificed to creatures worth less than herself, but
would make the very best of the chances that life
offered her, and conquer circumstance by her ex-
ceptional cleverness. Certainly, to ])e settled at
Offendene, with the notice of Lady Brackenshaw,
the Archery Club, and invitations to dine with
the Arrowpoints, as the highest lights in her
scenery, was not a position that seemed to offer
{'remarkable chances; but Gwendolen's confidence
\lay chiefly in herself. She felt well equipped for
febe mastery of life. With regard to much in her

THE SPOILED CHILD. 47

lot hitherto, she held herself rather hardly dealt
with, but as to her " education " she would have
admitted that it had left her under no disadvan-
tages. In the schoolroom her quick mind had
taken readily that strong starch of unexplained
rules and disconnected facts which saves ignorance
from any painful sense of limpness ; and what
remained of all things knowable, she was conscious
of being sufficiently acquainted with through
novels, plays, and poems. About her French and
music, the two justifying accomplishments of a
young lady, she felt no ground for uneasiness ; and
when to all these qualifications, negative and posi-
tive, we add the spontaneous sense of capability
some happy persons are born with, so that any
subject they turn attention to impresses them
with their own power of forming a correct judg-
ment on it, who can wonder if Gwendolen felt ready
to manage her own destiny ?

There were many subjects in the world — per- 5
haps the majority — in which she felt no interest i
because they were stupid ; for subjects are apt to I
appear stupid to the young as light seems dim to'
the old ; but she would not have felt at all help-
less in relation to them, if they had turned up in
conversation. It must be remembered that no one
had disputed her power or her general superiority.
As on the arrival at Offendene, so always, the first
thought of those about her had been, what will
Gwendolen think ? — if the footman trod heavily
in creaking boots or if the laundress's work was
unsatisfactory, the maid said, " This will never do
for Miss Harleth ; " if the wood smoked in the
bedroom fireplace, Mrs. Davilow, whose own weak
eyes suffered much from this inconvenience, spoke

48 DANIEL DERONDA.

apologetically of it to Gwendolen. If, when they
were under the stress of travelling, she did not
appear at the breakfast-table till every one else
had finished, the only question was, how Gwen-
dolen's coffee and toast should still be of the hot-
test and crispest ; and when she appeared with her
freshly brushed light -brown hair streaming back-
ward and awaiting her mamma's hand to coil it
up, her long brown eyes glancing bright as a wave-
washed onyx from under their long lashes, it was
always she herself who had to be tolerant, — to beg
that Alice who sat waiting on her would not stick
up her shoulders in that frightful manner, and
that Isabel instead of pushing up to her and ask-
ing questions would go away to Miss Merry.

Always she was the princess in exile, who in
time of famine was to have her breakfast-roll made
of the finest-bolted flour from the seven thin ears
of wheat, and in a general decampment was to
have her silver fork kept out of the baggage. How
was this to be accounted for ? The answer may
seem to lie quite on the surface, — in her beauty,
a certain unusualness about her, a decision of will
which made itself felt in her graceful movements
and clear unhesitating tones, so that if she came
into the room on a rainy day when everybody else
was flaccid and the use of things in general was
not apparent to them, there seemed to be a sudden,
sufficient reason for keeping up the forms of life ;
and even the waiters at hotels showed the more
alacrity in doing away with crumbs and creases
and dregs with struggling flies in them. This
potent charm, added to the fact that she was the
eldest daughter, towards whom her mamma had
al'.vays been in an apologetic state of mind for the

THE SPOILED CHILD. 49

evils brought on her by a stepfather, may seem so
full a reason for Gwendolen's domestic empire, that
to look for any other would be to ask the reason
of daylight when the sun is shining. But beware
of arriving at conclusions without comparison. I
remember having seen the same assiduous, apolo-
getic attention awarded to persons who were not
at all beautiful or unusual, whose firmness showed
itself in no very graceful or euphonious way, and
who were not eldest daughters with a tender, timid
mother, compunctious at having subjected them to
inconveniences. Some of them were a very com-
mon sort of men. And the only point of resem-
blance among them all was a strong determination
to have what was pleasant, with a total fearless-
ness in making themselves disagreeable or danger-
ous when they did not get it. Who is so much!
cajoled and served with trembling by the weaki
females of a household as the unscrupulous male, ',
— capable, if he has not free way at home, of 1
going and doing worse elsewhere ? Hence I am
forced to doubt whether even without her potent
charm and peculiar filial position Gwendolen might
not still have played the queen in exile, if only
she had kept her inborn energy of egoistic desire,
and her power of inspiring fear as to what she
might say or do. However, she had the charms
and those who feared her were also fond of her;
the fear and the fondness being perhaps both
heightened by what may be called the iridescence
of her character, — the play of various, nay, con-
trary tendencies. For Macbeth 's rhetoric about
the impossibility of l)eing many opposite things in
the same moment, referred to the clumsy necessi-
ties of action and not to the subtler possil)ilities of

VOL. 1 — 4

so DANIEL DERONDA.

feeling. We cannot speak a loyal word and be
meanly silent, we cannot kill and not kill in the
same moment ; but a moment is room wide enough
for the loyal and mean desire, for the outlash of a
murderous thought and the sharp backward stroke
of repentance.

CHAPTER V.

Her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak.

Much Ado about Nothing.

Gwendolen's reception in the neighbourhood ful-
filled her uncle's expectations. From Bracken-
shaw Castle to the Firs at Wanchester, where Mr.
Quallon the banker kept a generous house, she was
welcomed with manifest admiration, and even
those ladies who did not quite like her, felt a
comfort in having a new, striking girl to invite ;
for hostesses who entertain much must make up
their parties as ministers make up their cabinets,
on grounds other than personal liking. Then, in
order to have Gwendolen as a guest, it was not
necessary to ask any one who was disagreeable, for
Mrs. Davilow always made a quiet, picturesque
figure as a chaperon, and Mr. Gascoigne was every-
where in request for his own sake.

Among the houses where Gwendolen was not
quite liked, and yet invited, was Quetcham Hall.
One of her first invitations was to a large dinner-
party there, which made a sort of general intro-
duction for her to the society of the neighbourhood ;
for in a select party of thirty, and of well-composed
proportions as to age, few visitable families could
be entirely left out. No youtliful figure there was
comparable to Gwendolen's as she passed through

52 DANIEL DERONDA.

the long suite of rooms adorned with light and
flowers, and visible at first as a slim figure floating
along in white drapery, approached through one
wide doorway after another into fuller illumination
and definiteness. She had never had that sort of
promenade before, and she felt exultingly that it
befitted her : any one looking at her for the first
time might have supposed that long galleries and
lackeys had always been a matter of course in her
life; while her cousin Anna, who was really more
familiar with these things, felt almost as much
embarrassed as a rabbit suddenly deposited in that
well-lit space.

" Who is that with Gascoigne ? " said the arch-
deacon, neglecting a discussion of military manoeu-
vres on which, as a clergyman, he was naturally
appealed to. And his son, on the other side of the
room, — a hopeful young scholar, who had already
suggested some " not less elegant than ingenious "
emendations of Greek texts, — said nearly at the
same time, " By George ! who is that girl with the
awfully well-set head and jolly figure ? "

But to a mind of general benevolence, wishing
everybody to look well, it was rather exasperating
to see how Gwendolen eclipsed others : how even
the handsome Miss Lawe, explained to be the
daughter of Lady Lawe, looked suddenly broad,
heavy, and inanimate ; and how Miss Arrowpoint,
unfortunately also dressed in white, immediately
resembled a carte-de-visite in which one would
fancy the skirt alone to have been charged for.
Since Miss Arrowpoint was generally liked for the
amiable unpretending way in which she wore her
fortunes, and made a softening screen for the oddi-
ties of her mother, there seemed to be some unfit-

THE SPOILED CHILD. 53

ness in Gwendolen's looking so much more like a
person of social importance.

" She is not really so handsome if you come to
examine her features, " said Mrs. Arrowpoint, later
in the evening, confidentially to Mrs. Vulcany.
" It is a certain style she has, which produces
a great effect at first, but afterwards she is less
agreeable. "

In fact, Gwendolen, not intending it, but in- |
tending the contrary, had offended her hostess, I
who, though not a splenetic or vindictive woman,
had her susceptibilities. Several conditions had -^
met in the Lady of Quetcham which to the rea-
soners in that neighbourhood seemed to have an
essential connection with each other. It was occa-
sionally recalled that she had been the heiress of
a fortune gained by some moist or dry business in
the city, in order fully to account for her having
a squat figure, a harsh parrot-like voice, and a
systematically high head-dress ; and since these
points made her externally rather ridiculous, it
appeared to many only natural that she should
have what are called literary tendencies. A little
comparison would have shown that all these points
are to be found apart ; daughters of aldermen being
often well -grown and well-featured, pretty women
having sometimes harsh or husky voices, and the
production of feeble literature being found com-
patible with the most diverse forms of physique,
masculine as well as feminine.

Gwendolen, who had a keen sense of absurdity
in others, but was kindly disposed towards any
one who could make life agreeable to her, meant
to win Mrs. Arrowpoint by giving her an interest
and attention beyond what others were probably

54 DANIEL DERONDA.

inclined to show. But self-confidence is apt to
address itself to an imaginary dulness in others ;
as people who are well oft' speak in a cajoling tone
to the poor, and those who are in the prime of life
raise their voice and talk artificially to seniors,
hastily conceiving them to be deaf and rather
imbecile. Gwendolen, with all her cleverness and
purpose to be agreeable, could not escape that form
of stupidity : it followed in her mind, unreflect-
ingly, that because Mrs. Arrowpoint was ridiculous
she was also likely to be wanting in penetration,
and she went through her little scenes without
suspicion that the various shades of her behaviour
were all noted,

" You are fond of books as well as of music,
riding, and archery, I hear," Mrs. Arrowpoint
said, going to her for a tete-a-tete in the drawing-
room after dinner : " Catherine will be very glad
to have so sympathetic a neighbour. " This little
speech might have seemed the most graceful polite-
ness, spokeai in a low melodious tone ; but with a
twang fatally loud it gave Crwendolen a sense of ex-
ercising patronage when she answered gracefully, — •

" It is I who am fortunate. Miss Arrowpoint
will teach me what good music is : I shall be
entirely a learner. I hear that she is a thorough
musician. "

" Catherine has certainly had every advantage.
We have a first-rate musician in the house now, — •
Herr Klesmer ; perhaps you know all his composi-
tions. You must allow me to introduce him to
you. You sing, I believe. Catherine plays three
instruments, but she does not sing. I hope you
will let us hear you. I understand you are an
accomplished singer. "

THE SPOILED CHILD. 55

"Oh no! — 'die Kraft ist scliwach, allein die
Lust ist gross, ' as Mephistopheles says. "

" Ah, you are a student of Goethe. Young
ladies are so advanced now. I suppose you have
read everything. "

" No, really. I shall be so glad if you v^ill tell
me what to read. I have been looking into all the
books in the library at Offendene, but there is
nothing readable. The leaves all stick together
and smell musty. I wish I could write books to
amuse myself, as you can ! How delightful it
must be to write books after one's own taste in-
stead of reading other people's ! Home-made books
must be so nice. "

For an instant Mrs. Arrowpoint's glance was
a little sharper, but the perilous resemblance to
satire in the last sentence took the hue of girlish
simplicity when Gwendolen added, —

" I would give anything to write a book ! "

" And why should you not ? " said Mrs. Arrow-
point, encouragingly. " You have but to begin as
I did. Pen, ink, and paper are at everybody's
command. But I will send you all I have written
with pleasure. "

" Thanks. I shall be so glad to read your writ-
ings. Being acquainted with authors must give a
peculiar understanding of their books : one would
be able to tell then which parts were funny and
which serious. I am sure I often laugh in the
wrong place. " Here Gwendolen herself became
aware of danger, and added quickly, " In Shake-
speare, you know, and other great writers that we
can never see. But I always want to know more
than there is in the books "

" If you are interested in any of my subjects, I

56 DANIEL DERONDA.

can lend yon many extra sheets in manuscript, "
said Mrs. Arrowpoint, — while Gwendolen felt her-
self painfully in the position of the young lady
who professed to like potted sprats. " These are
things I dare say I shall puhlish eventually : sev-
eral friends have urged me to do so, and one
doesn't like to be obstinate. My Tasso, for ex-
ample, — I could have made it twice the size. "

" I dote on Tasso, " said Gwendolen.

" Well, you shall have all my papers, if you
like. So many, you know, have written about
Tasso ; but they are all wrong. As to the particu-
lar nature of his madness, and his feelings for
Leonora, and the real cause of his imprisonment,
and the character of Leonora, who, in my opinion,
was a cold-hearted woman, else she would have
married him in spite of her brother, — they are all
wrong. I differ from everybody. "

" How very interesting ! " said Gwendolen. " I
like to differ from everybody ; I think it is so
stupid to agree. That is the worst of writing your
opinions ; you make people agree with you. "

This speech renewed a slight suspicion in Mrs.
Arrowpoint, and again her glance became for a
moment examining. But Gwendolen looked very
innocent, and continued with a docile air, —

" I know nothing of Tasso except the Gerusa-
lemme Lihcrata, which we read and learned by
heart at school. "

" Ah, his life is more interesting than his poetry.
I have constructed the early part of his life as a
sort of romance. When one thinks of his father
Bernardo, and so on, there is so much that must
be true. "

" Imagination is often truer than fact, " said

THE SPOILED CHILD. $7

Gwendolen, decisively, though she could no more
have explained these glib words than if they had
been Coptic or Etruscan. " I shall be so glad to
learn all about Tasso,— and his madness especially.
I suppose poets are always a little mad. "

" To be sure, — ' the poet's eye in a fine frenzy
rolling ; ' and somebody says of Marlowe, —

' For that fine madness still be did maintain
Which always should jDossess the poet's brain.' "

" But it was not always found out, was it ? "
said Gwendolen, innocently. " I suppose some of
them rolled their eyes in private. Mad people are
often very cunning. "

Again a shade flitted over Mrs. Arrowpoint's
face ; but the entrance of the gentlemen prevented
any immediate mischief between her and this too
quick young lady, who had over-acted her na'ivete.

" Ah, here comes Herr Klesmer, " said Mrs.
Arrowpoint, rising ; and presently bringing him to
Gwendolen, she left them to a dialogue which was
agreeable on both sides, Herr Klesmer being a
felicitous combination of the German, the Sclave,
and the Semite, with grand features, brown hair >C
floating' in artistic fashion, and Itrown eyes in
spectacles. His English had little foreignness ex-
cept its fluency ; and his alarming cleverness was
made less formidable just then by a certain soften-
ing air of silliness which will sometimes befall
even Genius in the desire of being agreeable to
Beauty.

Music was soon loegun. Miss Arrowpoint and
Herr Klesmer played a four-handed piece on two
pianos which convinced the company in general
that it was long, and Gwendolen in particular that

58 DANIEL DERONDA.

the neutral, placid-faced Miss Arrowpoint had a
mastery of the instrument which put her own
execution out of the question, — though she was
not discouraged as to her often-praised touch and
style. After this every one became anxious to
hear Gwendolen sing, especially Mr. Arrowpoint ;
as was natural in a host and a perfect gentleman,
of whom no one had anything to say but that he
had married Miss Guttler, and imported the best
cigars ; and he led her to the piano with easy
politeness. Herr Klesmer closed the instrument
in readiness for her, and smiled with pleasure at
her approach ; then placed himself at the distance
of a few feet, so that he could see her as she sang.

Gwendolen was not nervous : what she under-
took to do she did without trembling, and singing
was an enjoyment to her. Her voice was a moder-
ately powerful soprano (some one had told her it
was like Jenny Lind's), her ear good, and she was
able to keep in tune, so that her singing gave
pleasure to ordinary hearers, and she had been
used to unmingled applause. She had the rare
advantage of looking almost prettier when she
was sinking than at other times, and that Herr
Klesmer was in front of her seemed not disagree-
able. Her song, determined on beforehand, was a
favourite aria of Bellini's, in which she felt quite
sure of herself.

" Charming ! " said Mr. Arrowpoint, who had
remained near ; and the word was echoed around
without more insincerity than we recognize in a
brotherly way as human. But Herr Klesmer stood
like a statue, — if a statue can be imagined in spec-
tacles ; at least, he was as mute as a statue.
Gwendolen was pressed to keep her seat and double

THE SPOILED CHILD. 59

the general pleasure, and she did not wish to re-
fuse ; but before resolving to do so, she moved a
little towards Herr Klesmer, saying with a look of
smiling appeal, " It would be too cruel to a great
musician. You cannot like to hear poor amateur
singing. "

" No, truly ; but that makes nothing, " said Herr
Klesmer, suddenly speaking in an odious German
fashion with staccato endings, quite unobservable
in him before, and apparently depending on a
change of mood, as Irishmen resume their strong-
est brogue when they are fervid or quarrelsome.
" That makes nothing. It is always acceptable to
see you sing. "

Was there ever so unexpected an assertion of
superiority, at least before the late Teutonic con-
quest ? Gwendolen coloured deeply, but, with her
usual presence of mind, did not show an ungrace-
ful resentment by moving away immediately ; and
Miss Arrowpoint, who had been near enough to
overhear (and also to observe that Herr Klesmer' s
mode of looking at Gwendolen was more conspicu-
ously admiring than was quite consistent with
good taste), now with the utmost tact and kind-
ness came close to her and said, —

" Imagine what I have to go through with this
professor! He can hardly tolerate anything we
English do in music. We can only put up with
his severity, and make use of it to find out the
worst that can be said of us. It is a little comfort
to know that ; and one can bear it when every one
else is admiring. "

" I should be very much obliged to him for tell-
ing me the worst, " said Gwendolen, recovering
herself. " I dare say I have been extremely ill

6o DANIEL DERONDA.

taught, in addition to having no talent — only
liking for music. " This was very well expressed
considering that it had never entered her mind
before.

" Yes, it is true ; you have not been well taught, "
said Herr Klesmer, quietly. Woman was dear to
him, but music was dearer. " Still you are not
quite without gifts. You sing in tune, and you
have a pretty fair organ. But you produce your
notes badly; and that music which you sing is
beneath you. It is a form of melody which ex-
presses a puerile state of culture,— a dandling, cant-
ing, see-saw kind of stuff, — the passion and thought
of people without any breadth of horizon. There
is a sort of self-satisfied folly about every phrase
of such melody ; no cries of deep, mysterious pas-
sion,— no contiict, — no sense of the universal. It
makes men small as they listen to it. Sing now
something larger. And I shall see. "

"Oh, not now, — by and by, " said Gwendolen,
with a sinking of heart at the sudden width of
horizon opened round her small musical perform-
ance. For a young lady desiring to lead, this first
encounter in her campaign was startling. But
she was bent on not behaving foolishly, and Miss
Arrowpoint helped her by saying, —

" Yes, by and by. I always require half an hour
to get up my courage after being criticised by Herr
Klesmer. We will ask him to play to us now : he
is bound to show us what is good music, "

To be quite safe on this point, Herr Klesmer
played a composition of his own, a fantasia called
Freudvoll, Leidvoll, Gedanhenvoll, — an extensive
commentary on some melodic ideas not too grossly
evident ; and he certainly fetched as much variety

THE SPOILED CHILD. 6r

and depth of passion out of the piano as that mod-
erately responsive instrument lends itself to, hav-
ing an imperious magic in his fingers that seemed to
send a nerve-thrill through ivory key and wooden
hammer, and compel the strings to make a quiver-
ing, lingering speech for him. Gwendolen, in spite
of her wounded egoism, had fulness of nature enough
to feel the power of this playing ; and it gradually
turned her inward sob of mortification into an ex-
citement which lifted her for the moment into a
desperate indifference about her own doings, or at
least a determination to get a superiority over them
by laughing at them as if they belonged to some-
body else. Her eyes had become brighter, her
cheeks slightly flushed, and her tongue ready for
any mischievous remarks.

" I wish you would sing to us again, Miss
Harleth," said young Clintock, the archdeacon's
classical son, who had been so fortunate as to take
her to dinner, and came up to renew conversation
as soon as Herr Klesmer's performance was ended.
" That is the style of music for me. I never can
make anything of this tip-top playing. It is like
a jar of leeches, where you can never tell either
beginnings or endings. I could listen to your
singing all day. "

" Yes, we should be glad of something popular
now, — another song from you would be a relaxa-
tion, " said Mrs. Arrowpoint, who had also come
near with polite intentions.

" That must be because you are in a puerile state
of culture, and have no breadth of horizon. I
have just learned that. I have been taught how
bad ray taste is, and am feeling growing pains.
They are never pleasant, " said Gwendolen, not

52 DANIEL DERONDA.

taking any notice of Mrs. Arrowpoint, and looking
up with a bright smile at young Clintock.

Mrs. Arrowpoint was not insensible to this rude-
ness, but merely said, " Well, we will not press
anything disagreeably ; " and as there was a per-
ceptible outrush of imprisoned conversation just
then, and a movement of guests seeking each
other, she remained seated where she was, and
looked round her with the relief of the hostess at
finding she is not needed.

" I am glad you like this neighbourhood, " said
young Clintock, well pleased with his station in
front of Gwendolen.

" Exceedingly. There seems to be a little of
everything and not much of anything. "

" That is rather equivocal praise. "

" Not with me. I like a little of everything ; a
little absurdity, for example, is very amusing. I
am thankful for a few queer people ; but much of
them is a bore. "

(Mrs. Arrowpoint, who was hearing this dia-
logue, perceived quite a new tone in Gwendolen's
speech, and felt a revival of doubt as to her inter-
est in Tasso's madness.)

" I think there should be more croquet, for one
thing, " said young Clintock ; " I am usually away,
but if I were more here I should go in for a cro-
quet club. You are one of the archers, I think.
But depend upon it, croquet is the game of the
future. It wants writing up, though. One of our
best men has written a poem on it, in four cantos,
— as good as Pope. I want him to publish it.
You never read anything better. "

" I shall study croquet to-morrow. I shall take
to it instead of singin^j. "

THE SPOILED CHILD. 63

" No, no, not that ; but do take to croquet. I
will send you Jenning's poem, if you like. I liave
a manuscript copy. "

" Is he a great friend of yours ? "

" Well, rather. "

" Oh, if he is only rather, I think I will decline.
Or, if you send it me, will you promise not to
catechise me upon it and ask me which part I like
best ? Because it is not so easy to know a poem
without reading it as to know a sermon without
listening. "

" Decidedly, " Mrs. Arrowpoint thought, " this
girl is double and satirical. I shall be on my
guard against her. "

But Gwendolen, nevertheless, continued to re-
ceive polite attentions from the family at Quetcliam,
not merely because invitations have larger grounds
than those of personal liking, but because the try-
ing little scene at the piano had awakened a kindly
solicitude towards her in the gentle mind of Miss
ArrowjDoint, who managed all the invitations and
visits, her mother being otherwise occupied.

CHAPTER VI.

Croyez-vons m'avoir hnmiliee pour m'avoi rappris que la terre
tourne autour du soleil? Je vous jure que je ne m'en estime pas
inoius. — FoNTENELLK : Plurallte des Mondes.

That lofty criticism had caused Gwendolen a new-
sort of pain. She would not have chosen to con-
fess how unfortunate she thought herself in not
having had Miss Arrowpoint's musical advantages,
so as to be able to question Herr Klesmer's taste
with the confidence of thorough knowledge ; still
less to admit even to herself that Miss Arrowpoint
each time they met raised an unwonted feeling of
jealousy in her : not in the least because she was
an heiress, but because it was really provoking
that a girl whose appearance you could not char-
acterize except by saying that her figure was slight
and of middle stature, her features small, her eyes
tolerable, and her complexion sallow, had never-
theless a certain mental superiority which could
not be explained away, — an exasperating thorough-
ness in her musical accomplishment, a fastidious
discrimination in her general tastes, which made
it impossible to force her admiration and kept you
in awe of her standard. This insignificant-looking
young lady of four-and-twenty, whom any one's
eyes would have passed over negligently if she had
not been Miss Arrowpoint, might be suspected of
a secret opinion that Miss Harleth's acquirements
were rather of a common order ; and such an opin-

THE SPOILED CHILD. 65

ion was not made agreeable to think of by being
always veiled under a perfect kindness of manner.

But Gwendolen did not like to dwell on facts
which threw an unfavourable light on herself.
The musical Magus who had so suddenly widened
her horizon was not always on the scene ; and his
being constantly backwards and forwards between
London and Quetcham soon began to be thought of
as offering opportunities for converting him to a
more admiring state of mind. Meanwhile, in the
manifest pleasure her singing gave at Brackenshaw
Castle, the Firs, and elsewhere, she recovered her
equanimity, being disposed to think approval more
trustworthy than objection, and not being one of
the exceptional persons who have a parching thirst
for a perfection undemanded by their neighbours.
Perhaps it would have been rash to say then that
she was at all exceptional inwardly, or that the
unusual in her was more than her rare grace of
movement and bearing, and a certain daring which
gave piquancy to a very common egoistic ambition,
such as exists under many clumsy exteriors and is
taken no notice of. For I suppose that the set of
the head does not really determine the hunger of
the inner self for supremacy : it only makes a dif-
ference sometimes as to the way in which the
supremacy is held attainable, and a little also to
the degree in which it can be attained ; especially
when the hungry one is a girl, whose passion for
doing what is remarkable has an ideal limit in
consistency with the highest breeding and perfect
freedom from the sordid need of income. Gwen-
dolen was as inwardly rebellious against the re-
straints of family conditions, and as ready to look
through obligations into her own fundamental

VOL. I. — 5

66 DANIEL DERONDA.

want of feeling for them, as if she had been sus-
tained by the boldest speculations ; but she really
had no such speculations, and would at once have
marked herself off from any sort of theoretical or
practically reforming women by satirizing them.
She rejoiced to feel herself exceptional ; but her
horizon was that of the genteel romance where the
heroine's soul poured out in her journal is full of
vague power, originality, and general rebellion,
while her life moves strictly in the sphere of fash-
ion ; and if she wanders into a swamp, the pathos
lies partly, so to speak, in her having on her satin
shoes. Here is a restraint which nature and soci-
ety have provided on the pursuit of striking adven-
ture ; so that a soul burning with a sense of what
the universe is not, and ready to take all existence
as fuel, is nevertheless held captive by the ordi-
nary wire-work of social forms, and does nothing
particular.

This commonplace result was what Gwendolen
found herself threatened with even in the novelty
of the first winter at Offendene. What she was
clear upon was, that she did not wish to lead the
same sort of life as ordinary young ladies did ; but
what she was not clear upon was, how she should
set about leading any other, and what were the
particular acts which she would assert her freedom
by doing. Offendene remained a good background,
if anything would happen there ; but on the whole
the neighbourhood was in fault.

Beyond the effect of her beauty on a first presen-
tation, there was not much excitement to be got
out of her earliest invitations, and she came home
after little sallies of satire and knowingness, such
as had offended Mrs. Arrowpoint, to fill the in-

THE SPOILED CHILD. 67

tervening days with the most girlish devices.
The strongest assertion she was able to make of
her individual claims was to leave out Alice's
lessons (on the principle that Alice was more
likely to excel in ignorance), and to employ her
with Miss Merry, and the maid who was under-
stood to wait on all the ladies, in helping to
arrange various dramatic costumes which Gwen-
dolen pleased herself with having in readiness for
some future occasions of acting in charades or
theatrical pieces, occasions which she meant to
bring about by force of will or contrivance. She
had never acted, — only made a figure in tableaux
vivans at school ; but she felt assured that she
could act well, and having been once or twice to
the Theatre Frangais, and also heard her mamma
speak of Eachel, her waking dreams and cogita-
tions as to how she would manage her destiny
sometimes turned on the question whether she
would become an actress like Eachel, since she
was more beautiful than that thin Jewess. Mean-
while the wet days before Christmas were passed
pleasantly in the preparation of costumes, Greek,
Oriental, and Composite, in which Gwendolen
attitudinized and speechified before a domestic
audience, including even the housekeeper, who
was once pressed into it that she might swell the
notes of applause ; but having shown herself un-
worthy by observing that Miss Harleth looked far
more like a queen in her own dress than in that
baggy thing with her arras all bare, she was not
invited a second time.

" Do I look as well as Rachel, mamma ? " said
Gwendolen, one day when she had been showing
herself in her Greek dress to Anna, and going
through scraps of scenes with much tragic intention.

68 DANIEL DERONDA.

" You have better arms than Eachel, " said Mrs.
Davilow ; " your arms would do for anything, Gwen.
But your voice is not so tragic as hers ; it is not so
deep. "

" I can make it deeper, if I like, " said Gwen-
dolen, provisionally ; then she added, with deci -
sion, " I think a higher voice is more tragic : it is
more feminine ; and the more feminine a woman
is, the more tragic it seems when she does desper-
ate actions. "

" There may be something in that, " said Mrs.
Davilow, languidly. "But I don't know what
good there is in making one's blood creep. And
if there is anything horrible to be done, I should
like it to be left to the men. "

" Oh, mamma, you are so dreadfully prosaic !
As if all the great poetic criminals were not
women ! I think the men are poor cautious
creatures. "

" Well, dear, and you — who are afraid to be
alone in the night — I don't think you would be
very bold in crime, thank God. "

" I am not talking aboiit reality, mamma, " said
Gwendolen, impatiently. Then, her mamma being
called out of the room, she turned quickly to her
cousin, as if taking an opportunity, and said :
" Anna, do ask my uncle to let us get up some cha-
rades at the Eectory. Mr. Middleton and Warham
could act with us — just for practice. Mamma says
it will not do to have Mr. Middleton consulting and
rehearsing here. He is a stick, but we could give
him suitable parts. Do ask ; or else I will. "

" Oh, not till Rex comes. He is so clever, and
such a dear old thing, and he will act Napoleon
looking over the sea. He looks just like Napo-
leon. Eex can do anything. "

THE SPOILED CHILD. 69

" I don't in the least believe in your Eex, Anna, "
said Gwendolen, laughing at her. " He will turn
out to be like those wretched blue and yellow
water-colours of his which you hang up in your
bedroom and worship. "

" Very well, you will see, " said Anna. " It is
not that I know what is clever, but he has got a
scholarship already, and papa says he will get a
fellowship, and nobody is better at games. He is
cleverer than Mr. Middletoo, and everybody but
you calls Mr. Middleton clever. "

" So he may be in a dark-lantern sort of way.
But he is a stick. If he had to say, * Perdition
catch my soul, but I do love her, ' he would say it
in just the same tone as, ' Here endeth the second
lesson. '

" Oh, Gwendolen ! " said Anna, shocked at these
promiscuous allusions. " And it is very unkind
of you to speak so of him, for he admires you very
much. I heard Warham say one day to mamma,
' Middleton is regularly spoony upon Gwendolen. '
She was very angry with him ; but I know what it
means. It is what they say at college for being in
love. "

"How can I help it?" said Gwendolen, rather
contemptuously. " Perdition catch my soul if I
love him. "

" No, of course ; papa, I think, would not wish
it. And he is to go away soon. But it makes me
sorry when you ridicule him. "

" What shall you do to me when I ridicule
Eex ? " said Gwendolen, wickedly.

" Now, Gwendolen dear, you will not ? " said
Anna, her eyes filling with tears. " I could not
bear it. But there really is nothing in him to

70 DANIEL DERONDA.

ridicule. Only you may find out things. For no
one ever thought of laughing at Mr. Middleton
before you. Every one said he was nice-looking,
and his manners perfect. I am sure I have always
been frightened at him because of his learning and
his square-cut coat, and his being a nephew of the
bishop's and all that. But you will not ridicule
Rex, — promise me. " Anna ended with a beseech-
ing look which touched Gwendolen.

" You are a dear little coz, " she said, just touch-
ing the tip of Anna's chin with her thumb and
forefinger. " I don't ever want to do anything that
will vex you. Especially if Eex is to make every-
thing come off, — charades and everything."

And when at last Rex was there, the animation
he brought into the life at Offendene and the Rec-
tory, and his ready partnership in Gwendolen's
plans, left her no inclination for any ridicule that
was not of an open and flattering kind, such as he
himself enjoyed. He was a fine open-hearted youth,
with a handsome face strongly resembling his
father's and Anna's, but softer in expression than
the one, and larger in scale than the other; a
bright, healthy, loving nature, enjoying ordinary,
innocent things so much that vice had no tempta-
tion for him, and what he knew of it lay too
entirely in the outer courts and little-visited cham-
bers of his mind for him to think of it with great
repulsion. Vicious habits were with him " what
some fellows did," — "stupid stuff" which he
liked to keep aloof from. He returned Anna's
affection as fully as could be expected of a brother
whose pleasures apart from her were more than the
sum total of hers ; and he had never known a
stronger love.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 71

The cousins were continually together at the one
house or the other, — chiefly at Offendene, where
there was more freedom, or rather where there was
a more complete sway for Gwendolen ; and what-
ever she wished became a ruling purpose for Rex.
The charades came off according to her plans ; and
also some other little scenes not contemplated by
her in which her acting was more impromptu. It
was at Offendene that the charades and tableaux
were rehearsed and presented, Mrs. Davilow seeing
no objection even to Mr. Middleton's being invited
to share in them, now that Eex too was there, —
especially as his services were indispensable ; War-
ham, who was studying for India with a Wanches-
ter " coach, " having no time to spare, and being
generally dismal under a cram of everything except
the answers needed at the forthcoming Examina-
tion, which might disclose the welfare of our
Indian Empire to be somehow connected with a
quotable knowledge of Browne's Pastorals.

Mr. Middleton was persuaded to play various
grave parts, Gwendolen having flattered him on
his enviable immobility of countenance ; and at
first a little pained and jealous at her comradeship
with Eex, he presently drew encouragement from
the thought that this sort of cousinly familiarity
excluded any serious passion. Indeed, he occa-
sionally felt that her more formal treatment of
himself was such a sign of favour as to warrant
his making advances before he left Pennicote,
though he had intended to keep his feelings in
reserve until his position should be more assured.
Miss Gwendolen, quite aware that she was adored
by this unexceptionable young clergyman with
pale whiskers and square-cut collar, felt nothing

72 DANIEL DERONDA.

more on the subject than that she had no objec-
tion to be adored : she turned her eyes on him with
^calra mercilessness, and caused him many mildly
agitating hopes by seeming always to avoid dra-
matic contact with him, — for all meanings, we
know, depend on the key of interpretation.

Some persons might have thought beforehand
that a young man of Anglican leanings, having a
sense of sacredness much exercised on small things
as well as great, rarely laughing save from polite-
ness, and in general regarding the mention of
spades by their naked names as rather coarse,
would not have seen a fitting bride for himself in
a girl who was daring in ridicule, and showed
none of the special grace required in the clergy-
man's wife; or that a young man informed by
theological reading would have reflected that he
was not likely to meet the taste of a lively, rest-
less young lady like Miss Harleth. But are we
always obliged to explain why the facts are not
what some persons thought beforehand ? The
apology lies on their side who had that erroneous
way of thinking.

As for Kex, who would possibly have been sorry
for poor Middleton if he had been aware of the
excellent curate's inward conflict, he was too com-
pletely absorbed in a first passion to have observa-
tion for any person or thing. He did not observe
Gwendolen ; he only felt what she said or did, and
the back of his head seemed to be a good organ of
information as to whether she was in the room or
out. Before the end of the first fortnight he was
so deeply in love that it was impossible for him to
think of his life except as bound up with Gwen-
dolen's. He could see no obstacles, poor boy; his

THE SPOILED CHILD. 73

own love seemed a guarantee of hers, since it was
one with the unperturbed delight in her image, so
that he could no more dream of her giving him
pain than an Egyptian could dream of snow. She
sang and played to him wlienever he liked, was
always glad of his companionship in riding, though
his borrowed steeds were often comic, was ready to
join in any fun of his, and showed a right appre-
ciation of Anna. No mark of sympathy seemed
absent. That because Gwendolen was the most
perfect creature in the world she was to make a
grand match, had not occurred to him. He had
no conceit, — at least, not more than goes to make
up the necessary gum and consistence of a substan-
tial personality : it was only that in the young
bliss of loving he took Gwendolen's perfection as
part of that good which had seemed one with life
to him, being the outcome of a happy, well-em-
bodied nature.

One incident which happened in the course of
their dramatic attempts impressed Eex as a sign of
her unusual sensibility. It showed an aspect of her
nature which could not have been preconceived by
any one who, like him, had only seen her habitual
fearlessness in active exercises and her high spirits
in society.

After a good deal of rehearsing it was resolved
that a select party should be invited to Offendene
to witness the performances which went with so
much satisfaction to the actors. Anna had caused
a pleasant surprise ; nothing could be neater than
the way in which she played her little parts; one
would even have suspected her of hiding much sly
observation under her simplicity. And Mr. Mid-
dleton answered very well by not trying to be

74 DANIEL DERONDA.

comic. The main source of doubt and retardation
■ had been Gwendolen's desire to appear in her
\ Greek dress. No word for a charade would occur
\ to her either waking or dreaming that suited her
purpose of getting a statuesque pose in this favour-
ite costume. To choose a motive from Eacine was
of no use, since Eex and the others could not de-
claim French verse, and improvised speeches would
turn the scene into burlesque. Besides, Mr. Gas-
coigne prohibited the acting of scenes from plays :
he usually protested against the notion that an
amusement which was fitting for every one else
was unfitting for a clergyman ; but he would not
in this matter overstep the line of decorum as
drawn in that part of Wessex, which did not ex-
clude his sanction of the young people's acting
charades in his sister-in-law's house, — a very
different affair from private theatricals in the full
sense of the word.

Everybody of course was concerned to satisfy
this wish of Gwendolen's, and Eex proposed that
they should wind up with a tableau in which the
effect of her majesty would not be marred by any
one's speech. This pleased her thoroughly, and
the only question was the choice of the tableau.

"Something pleasant, children, I beseech you,"
said Mrs. Davilow ; "I can't have any Greek
wickedness. "

" It is no worse than Christian wickedness,
mamma, " said Gwendolen, whose mention of
Eachelesque heroines had called forth that remark.

" And less scandalous, " said Eex. " Besides,
one tliinks of it as all gone by and done with.
What do you say to Briseis being led away ? I
would be Achilles, and you would be looking

THE SPOILED CHILD. 75

round at me — after the print we have at the
Kectory. "

" That would be a good attitude for me, " said
Gwendolen, in a tone of acceptance. But after-
wards she said with decision, " No. It will not
do. There must be three men in proper costume,
else it will be ridiculous. "

" I have it ! " said Eex, after a little reflection.
" Hermione as the statue in the Winter's Tale! I
will be Leontes, and Miss Merry Paulina, one on
each side. Our dress won't signify," he went on
laughingly ; " it will be more Shakespearian and
romantic if Leontes looks like Napoleon, and Pau-
lina like a modern spinster. "

And Hermione was chosen, all agreeing that
Age was of no consequence ; but Gwendolen urged
(ihat instead of the mere tableau there should be
just enough acting of the scene to introduce the
striking up of the music as a signal for her to step
down and advance; when Leontes, instead of em-
bracing her, was to kneel and kiss the hem of her
garment, and so the curtain was to fall. The
antechamber with folding doors lent itself admi-
rably to the purposes of a stage, and the whole of
the establishment, with the addition of Jarrett the
village carpenter, was absorbed in the preparations
for an entertainment which, considering that it
was an imitation of acting, was likely to be suc-
cessful, since we know from ancient fable that an
imitation may have more chance of success than
the original.

Gwendolen was not without a special exultation
in the prospect of this occasion, for she knew that
Hen Klesmer was again at Quetcham, and .she had
takeu care to include him among the invited.

^6 DANIEL DERONDA.

Klesmer came. He was in one of his placid
silent moods, and sat in serene contemplation,
replying to all ajDpeals in benignant-sounding
syllables more or less articulate, — as taking up his
cross meekly in a world overgrown with amateurs,
or as careful how he moved his lion paws lest he
should crush a rampant and vociferous mouse.

Everything indeed went off smoothly and accord-
ing to expectation — all that was improvised and
accidental being of a probable sort — until the in-
cident occurred which showed Gwendolen in an
unforeseen phase of emotion. How it came about
was at first a mystery

The tableau of Hermione was doubly striking
from its dissimilarity with what had gone before :
it was answering perfectly, and a murmur of ap-
plause had been gradually suppressed while Leontes
gave his permission that Paulina should exercise
her utmost art and make the statue move.

Hermione, her arm resting on a pillar, was ele-
vated by about six inches, which she counted on as
a means of showing her pretty foot and instep,
when at the given signal she should advance and
descend.

" Music, awake her, strike ! " said Paulina (Mrs.
Davilow, who by special entreaty had consented to
take the part in a white burnous and hood)

Herr Klesmer, who had been good-natured enough
to seat himself at the piano, struck a thunderous
chord — but in the same instant, and before Her-
mione had put forth her foot, the movable panel,
which was on a line with the piano, flew open on
the right opposite the stage, and disclosed the
picture of the dead face and the fleeing figure,
brought out in pale definiteness by the position of

THE SPOILED CHILD. 77

the wax-lights. Every one was startled ; but all
eyes in the act of turning towards the opened panel
were recalled by a piercing cry from Gwendolen,
who stood without change of attitude, but with a
change of expression that was terrifying in its ter-
ror. She looked like a statue into which a soul of
Fear had entered : her pallid lips were parted ; her
eyes, usually narrowed under their long lashes,
were dilated and fixed. Her mother, less surprised
than alarmed, rushed towards her, and Eex too
could not help going to her side. But the touch
of her mother's arm had the effect of an electric
charge ; Gwendolen fell on her knees and put her
hands before her face. She was still trembling,
but mute, and it seemed that she had self-con-
sciousness enough to aim at controlling her signs
of terror, for she presently allowed herself to be
raised from her kneeling posture and led away,
while the company were relieving their minds by
explanation.

" A magnificent bit of plastik that ! " said Kles-
mer to Miss Arrowpoint. And a quick fire of
undertoned question and answer went round.

" Was it part of the play ? "

" Oh, no, surely not. Miss Harleth was too
much affected. A sensitive creature ! "

" Dear me ! I was not aware that there was a
painting behind that panel ; were you ? "

" No ; how should I ? Some eccentricity in one
of the Earl's family long ago, I suppose."

" How very painful ! Pray shut it up. "

" Was the door locked ? It is very mysterious.
It must be the spirits. "

" But there is no medium present. "

" How do you know that ? We must conclude
that there is, when such things happen. "

78 DANIEL DERONDA.

" Oh, the door was not locked ; it was probably
the sudden vibration from the piano that sent it
open. "

This conclusion came from Mr. Gascoigne, who
begged Miss Merry if possible to get the key. But
this readiness to explain the mystery was thought
by Mrs. Vulcany unbecoming in a clergyman, and
she observed in an undertone that Mr. Gascoigne
was always a little too worldly for her taste.
However, the key was produced, and the rector
turned it in the lock with an emphasis rather
offensively rationalizing — as w]:o should say, " It
will not start open again," — putting the key in
his pocket as a security.

However, Gwendolen soon reappeared, showing
her usual spirits, and evidently determined to
ignore as far as she could the striking change she
had made in the part of Hermiona

But when Klesmer said to her, " We have to
thank you for devising a perfect climax : you could
not have chosen a finer bit of plastik, " there was
a flush of pleasure in her face. She liked to accept
as a belief what was really no more than delicate
feigning. He divined that the betrayal into a pas-
sion of fear had been mortifying to her, and wished
her to understand that he took it for good acting.
Gwendolen cherished the idea that now he was
struck with her talent as well as her beauty, and
her uneasiness about his opinion was half turned
to complacency.

But too many were in the secret of what had
been included in the rehearsals, and what had not ;
and no one besides Klesmer took the trouble to
soothe Gwendolen's imagined mortification. The
general sentiment was that the incident should be
let drop.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 79

There had really been a medium concerned in
the starting open of the panel : one who had quitted
the room in haste and crept to bed in much alarm
of conscience. It was the small Isabel, whose in-
tense curiosity, "iifisatisHed by the brief glimpse
she had had of the strange picture on the day of
arrival at Offendene, had kept her on the watch for
an opportunity of finding out where Gwendolen
had put the key, of stealing it from the discovered
drawer when the rest of the family were out, and
getting on a stool to unlock the panel. While she
was indulging her thirst for knowledge in this
way, a noise which she feared was an approaching
footstep alarmed her : she closed the door and
attempted hurriedly to lock it, but failing and not
daring to linger, she withdrew the key and trusted
that the panel would stick, as it seemed well in-
clined to do. In this confidence she had returned
the key to its former place, stilling any anxiety by
the thought that if the door were discovered to be
unlocked nobody could know how the unlocking
came about. The inconvenient Isabel, like other
offenders, did not foresee her own impulse to con-
fession, a fatality which came upon her the morn-
ing after the party, when Gwendolen said at the
breakfast-table, " I know the door was locked
before the housekeeper gave me the key, for I
tried it myself afterwards. Some one must have
been to my drawer and taken the key. "

It seemed to Isabel that Gwendolen's awful eyes
had rested on her more than on the other sisters,
and without any time for resolve she said with a
trembling lip, " Please forgive me, Gwendolen. "

The forgiveness was sooner bestowed than it
would have been if Gwendolen had not desired tu

8o DANIEL DERONDA.

dismiss from her own and every one else's memory
any case in which she had shown her susceptibil-
ity to terror. She wondered at herself in these
occasional experiences, which seemed like a brief
remembered madness, an unexplained exception
from her normal life ; and in this instance she felt
a peculiar vexation that her helpless fear had
shown itself, not, as usual, in solitude, but in
well-lit company. Her ideal was to be daring in
speech and reckless in braving dangers, both moral
and physical ; and though her practice fell far
Ijehind her ideal, this shortcoming seemed to be
due to the pettiness of circumstances, the narrow
theatre which life offers to a girl of twenty, who
cannot conceive herself as anything else than a
lady, or as in any position which would lack the
tribute of respect. She had no permanent con-
sciousness of other fetters, or of more spiritual
restraints, having always disliked whatever was
presented to her under the name of religion, in the
same way that some people dislike arithmetic and
accounts : it had raised no other emotion in her,
no alarm, no longing ; so that the question whether
she believed it had not occurred to her, any more
tlian it had occurred to her to inquire into the
conditions of colonial property and banking, on
which, as she had had many opportunities of
knowing, the family fortune was dependent. All
these facts about herself she would have been ready
to admit, and even, more or less indirectly, to
state. What she unwillingly recognized, and would
have been glad for others to be unaware of, was
that liability of hers to fits of spiritual dread,
though this fountain of awe within her had not
found its way into connection with the religion

THE SPOILED CHILD. 8i

taught her or with any human relations. She was
ashamed and frightened, as at what might happen
again, in remembering her tremor on suddenly
feeling herself alone, when, for example, she was
walking without companionship and there came
some rapid change in the light. Solitude in any
wide scene impressed her with an undefined feel-
ing of immeasurable existence aloof from her, in
the midst of which she was helplessly incapable of
asserting herself. The little astronomy taught her
at school used sometimes to set her imagination at
work m a way that made her tremble : but always
when some one joined her she recovered her in-
difference to the vastness in which she seemed an
exile ; she found again her usual world in which
her will was of some avail, and the religious
nomenclature belonging to this world was no more
identified for her with those uneasy impressions of
awe than her uncle's surplices seen out of use at
the Eectory. With human ears and eyes about
h'jr, she had always hitherto recovered her confi-
dence, and felt the possibility of winning empire.

To her mamma and others her fits of timidity or"
terror were sufficiently accounted for by her " sen-
sitiveness " or the " excitability of her nature ; "
but these explanatory phrases required conciliation
with much that seemed to be blank indifference or
rare self-mastery. Heat is a great agent and a
useful word, but considered as a means of explain-
ing the universe it requires an extensive knowl-
edge of differences ; and as a means of explaining
character " sensitiveness " is in much the same
predicament. But who, loving a creature like
(Tvvendolen, would not be inclined to regard every
peculiarity in her as a mark of pre-eminence ?

82 DANIEL DERONDA.

That was what Kex did. After the Hermione
scene he was more persuaded than ever that she
must be instinct with all feeling, and not only
readier to respond to a worshipful love, but able
to love better than other girls. Rex felt the sum-
mer on his young wings, and soared happily.

CHAPTER VII.

Perigot. As the bonny lasse passed bye,

Willie. Hey, ho, bouuilasse !

P. She roode at me with glaunciug eye,

W. As clear as the crystall glasse.

P. All as the sunny beame so bright,

W. Hey, ho, the sunnebeame !

P. Glaunceth from Phoebus' face forthright,

W. So love into thy heart did strearae.

Spenskr : Shepheard's Calendar,

The kindliest symptom, yet the most alarming crisis in the
ticklish state of youth ; the nourisher and destroyer of hopeful
wits ; . . . the servitude above freedom ; the gentle mind's religion ;
the liberal superstition. — Chakles Lamb.

The first sign of tlie iinimagined suow-storm was
lilce the transparent white cloud that seems to set
off the blue. Anna was in the secret of Rex's feel-
ing ; though for the first time in their lives he had
said nothing to her about what he most thought of,
and he only took it for granted that she knew it.
For the first time, too, Anna could not say to Rex-
what was continually in her mind. Perhaps it
might have been a pain which she would have had
to conceal, that he should so soon care for some one
else more than for herself, if such a feeling had not
been thoroughly neutralized by doubt and anxiety on
his behalf. Anna admired her cousin, — would have
said with simple sincerity, "Gwendolen is always
very good to me," and held it in the order of things
for herself to be entirely subject to this cousin ; but
she looked at her with mingled fear and distrust,

84 DANIEL DERONDA.

with a puzzled contemplation as of some wondrous
and beautiful animal whose nature was a mystery,
and who, for anything Anna knew, might have an
appetite for devouring all the small creatures that
were her own particular pets. And now Anna's
heart was sinking under the heavy conviction which
she dared not utter, that Gwendolen would never
care for Eex. What she herself held in tenderness
and reverence had constantly seemed indifferent to
Gwendolen, and it was easier to imagine her scorning
Eex than returning any tenderness of his. Besides,
she was always thinking of being something extraor-
dinary. And poor Rex ! Papa would be angry with
him, if he knew. And of course he was too young
to be in love in that way; and she, Anna, had
thought that it would be years and years before
anything of that sort came, and that she would be
Eex's housekeeper ever so long. But what a heart
must that be which did not return his love ! Aima^
in the prospect of his suffering, was beginning to
dislike her too fascinating cousin.

It seemed to her, as it did to Eex, that the weeks
had been filled with a tumultuous life evident to all
observers : if he had been questioned on the subject,
he would have said that he had no wish to conceal
what he hoped would be an engagement which he
should immediately tell his father of ; and yet for
the first time in his life he was reserved not only
about his feelings, but — which was more remarkable
to Anna — about certain actions. She, on her side,
was nervous each time her father or mother began
to speak to her in private, lest they should say any-
thing about Eex and Gwendolen. But the elders
were not in the least alive to this agitating drama,
which went forward chietly in a sort of pantomime

THE SPOILED CHILD. 85

extremely lucid in the minds thus expressing them-
selves, but easily missed by spectators who were
running their eyes over the " Guardian " or the
" Clerical Gazette," and regarded the trivialities of
the young ones with scarcely more interpretation
than they gave to the actions of lively ants.

" Where are you going, Eex ? " said Anna one
gray morning when her father had set off in the
carriage to the sessions, Mrs, Gascoigne with him,
and she had observed that her brother had on his
antigropelos, the utmost approach he possessed to
a hunting equipment.

" Going to see the hounds throw off at the Three
Barns."

" Are you going to take Gwendolen ? " said Anna,
timidly.

" She told you, did she ? "

" No ; but I thought — Does papa know you
are going ? "

" Not that I am aware of. I don't suppose he
would trouble himself about the matter."

" You are going to use his horse ? "

" He knows I do that whenever I can."

" Don't let Gwendolen ride after the hounds, Rex,"
said Anna, whose fears gifted her with second-sight.

"Why not?" said Rex, smiling rather pro-
vokingly.

"Papa and mamma and Aunt Davilow all wish
her not to. They think it is not right for her."

"Why should you suppose she is going to do
what is not right?"

" Gwendolen minds nobody sometimes," said
Anna, getting bolder by dint of a little anger.

" Then she would not mind me," said Rex, per-
versely making a joke of poor Anna's anxiety.

86 DANIEL DERONDA.

"Oh, Eex, I cannot bear it. You will make
yourself very unhappy." Here Anna burst into
tears.

" Nannie, Nannie, what on earth is the matter
with you ? " said Rex, a little impatient at being
kept in this way, hat on and whip in hand.

" She will not care for you one bit, — I know
she never will ! " said the poor child in a sobbing
whisper. She had lost all control of herself.

Rex reddened and hurried away from her out of
the hall door, leaving her to the miserable con-
sciousness of having made herself disagreeable in
vain.

He did think of her words as he rode along : they
Jiad the unwelcomeness which all unfavourable
fortune-telling has, even when laughed at; but he
quickly explained them as springing from little
Anna's tenderness, and began to be sorry that he
was obliged to come away without soothing her.
Every other feeling on the subject, however, was
quickly merged in a resistant belief to the contrary
of hers, accompanied with a new determination to
prove that he was right. This sort of certainty
had just enough kinship to doubt and uneasiness to
hurry on a coiifession which an untouched security
might have delayed.

Gwendolen was already mounted and riding up
and down the avenue when Rex appeared at the
gate. She had provided herself against disappoint-
ment in case he did not appear in time by having
the groom ready behind her, for she would not have
waited beyond a reasonable time. But now the
groom was dismissed, and the two rode away in
delightful freedom. Gwendolen was in her highest
spirits, and Rex thought that she had never looked

THE SPOILED CHILD. 87

so lovely before : her figure, her long white throat,
and the curves of her cheek and chin were always
set off to perfection by the compact simplicity of
her riding-dress. He could not conceive a more per-
fect girl ; and to a youthful lover like Rex it seems
that the fundamental identity of the good, the true,
and the beautiful is already extant and manifest in
the object of his love. Most observers would have
held it more than equally accountable that a girl
should have like impressions about Rex, for in his
handsome face there was nothing corresponding to
the undefinable stinging quality ■ — as it were a
trace of demon ancestry — which made some be-
holders hesitate in their admiration of Gwendolen.

It was an exquisite January morning, in wliich
there was no threat of rain, but a gray sky making
the calmest background for the charms of a mild
winter scene, — the grassy borders of the lanes,
the hedgerows sprinkled with red berries and
haunted with low twitterings, the purple bareness
of the elms, the rich brown of the furrows. The
horses' hoofs made a musical chime, accompanying
their young voices. She was laughing at his equip-
ment, for he was the reverse of a dandy, and lie
was enjoying her laughter: the freshness of tlie
morning mingled with the freshness of their youth ;
and every sound that came from their clear throats,
every glance they gave each other, was the bubbling
outflow from a spring of joy. It was all morning to
them, within and without. And thinking of them
in these moments one is tempted to that futile sort
of wishing — if only things could have been a little
otherwise then, so as to have been greatly other-
wise after! — if only these two b(^autiful young
creatures could have pledged themselves to each

88 DANIEL DERONDA.

other then and there, and never through life have
swerved from that pledge ! For some of the good-
ness which Eex believed in was there. Goodness
is a large, often a prospective word ; like harvest,
which at one stage when we talk of it lies all
underground, with an indeterminate future : is the
germ prospering in the darkness ? at another, it has
put forth delicate green blades, and by and by the
trembling blossoms are ready to be dashed off by an
hour of rough wind or rain. Each stage has its
peculiar blight, and may have the healthy life
choked out of it by a particular action of the foul
land which rears or neighbours it, or by damage
brought from foulness afar.

" Anna had got it into her head that you would
want to ride after the hounds this morning," said
Rex, whose secret associations with Anna's words
made this speech seem quite perilously near the
most momentous of subjects.

" Did she ? " said Gwendolen, laughingly. " What
a little clairvoyante she is ! "

" Shall you ? " said Rex, who had not believed in
her intending to do it if the elders objected, but
confided in her having good reasons.

" I don't know. I can't tell what I shall do
till I get there. Clairvoyantes are often wrong :
they foresee what is likely. I am not fond of
what is likely ; it is always dull. I do what is
unlikely."

" Ah, there you tell me a secret. When once I
knew what people in general would be likely to do,
I should know you would do the opposite. So you
would have come round to a likelihood of your
own sort. I shall be able to calculate on you.
You could n't surprise me."

THE SPOILED CHILD. 89

"Yes, I could. I should turn round and do what
was likely for people in general," said Gwendolen,
with a musical laugh.

" You see you can't escape some sort of likeli-
hood. And contradictoriness makes the strongest
likelihood of all. You must give up a plan."

" No, I shall not. My plan is to do what pleases
me." (Here should any young lady incline to imi-
tate Gwendolen, let her consider the set of her
head and neck : if the angle there had been differ-
ent, the chin protrusive, and the cervical vertebree
a trifle more curved in their position, ten to one
Gwendolen's words would have had a jar in them
for the sweet-natured Eex. Rut everything odd
in her speech was humour and pretty banter, which
he was only anxious to turn towards one point.)

" Can you manage to feel only what pleases
you ? " said he.

" Of course not ; that comes from what other
people do. But if the world were pleasanter, one
would only feel what was pleasant. Girls' lives
are so stupid : they never do what they like."

" I tliought that was more the case of the men.
They are forced to do hard things, and are often
dreadfully bored, and knocked to pieces too. And
then, if we love a girl very dearly we want to do as
she likes ; so after all you have your own way."

" I don't believe it. I never saw a married
woman who had her own way."

" What should you like to do ? " said Eex, quite
guilelessly, and in real anxiety.

" Oh, I don't know ! — go to the North Pole, or
ride steeplechases, or go to be a queen in the East
like Lady Hester Stanhope," said Gwendolen, flight-
ily. Her words were born on her lips, but slie

90 DANIEL DERONDA.

would have been at a loss to give an answer of
deeper origin.

" You don't mean you would never be married ? "

" No ; I did n't say that. Only when I married,
I should not do as other women do."

" You might do just as you liked if you married
a man who loved you more dearly than anything
else in the world," said Eex, who, poor youth, was
moving in themes outside the curriculum in which
he had promised to win distinction. " I know one
who does."

" Don't talk of Mr. Middleton, for heaven's sake,"
said Gwendolen, hastily, a quick blush spreading
over her face and neck ; " that is Anna's chant. I
hear the hounds. Let us go on."

She put her chestnut to a canter, and Rex had no
choice but to follow her. Still he felt encouraged.
Gwendolen was perfectly aware that her cousin was
in love with her ; but she had no idea that the
matter was of any consequence, having never had
the slightest visitation of painful love herself. She
wished the small romance of Rex's devotion to fill
up the time of his stay at Pennicote, and to avoid
explanations which would bring it to an untimely
end. Besides, she objected, with a sort of physical
repulsion, to being directly made love to. With
all lier imaginative delight in being adored, there
was a certain fierceness of maidenhood in her.

But all other thoughts were soon lost for her in
the excitement of the scene at the Three Barns.
Several gentlemen of the hunt knew her, and she
exchanged pleasant greetings. Rex could not get
another word with her. The colour, the stir of
the field had taken possession of Gwendolen witli
a strength which was not due to habitual associa-

THE SPOILED CHILD. 91

tion, for she had never yet ridden after the
hounds, — only said she should like to do it, and
so drawn forth a prohibition ; her mamma dreading
the danger, and her uncle declaring that for his
part he held that kind of violent exercise unseemly
in a woman, and that whatever might be done in
other parts of the country, no lady of good position
followed the Wessex hunt : no one but Mrs. Gads-
by, the yeomanry captain's wif2, who had been a
kitchen-maid, and still spoke like one. This last
argument had some effect on Gwendolen, and had
kept her halting between her desire to assert her
freedom and her horror of being classed with
Mrs. Gadsby.

Some of the most unexceptionable women in the
neighbourhood occasionally went to see the hounds
throw off; but it happened that none of them were
present this morning to abstain from following,
while Mrs. Gadsby, with her doubtful antecedents,
grammatical and otherwise, was not visible to make
following seem unbecoming. Thus Gwendolen felt
no check on the animal stimulus that came from
the stir and tongue of the hounds, the pawing of
the horses, the varying voices of men, the move-
ment hither and thither of vivid colour on the back-
ground of green and gray stillness, — that utmost
excitement of the coming chase which consists in
feeling something like a combination of dog and
hor.se, with the superadded thrill of social vanities
and consciousness of centaur-power which belong to
humankind.

Eex would have felt more of the same enjoyment
if he could have kept nearer to Gwendolen, and not
seen her constantly occupied with acquaintances, or
looked at by would-be acquaintances, all on lively

92 DANIEL DERONDA.

horses which veered about and swept the surround-
ing space as effectually as a revolving lever.

" Glad to see you here this fine morning, Miss Har-
leth," said Lord Brackenshaw, a middle-aged peer of
aristocratic seediness in stained pink, with easy-going
manners which would have made the threatened
Deluge seem of no consequence. " We shall have a
first-rate run. A pity you don't go with us. Have
you ever tried your little chestnut at a ditch ? You
would n't be afraid, eh : "

" Not the least in the world," said Gwendolen.
And this was true ; she was never fearful in action
and companionship. " I have often taken him at
some rails and a ditch too, near — "

" Ah, by Jove ! " said his lordship, quietly, in
notation that something was happening which must
break off the dialogue ; and as he reined off his horse,
Rex was bringing his sober hackney up to Gwen-
dolen's side when^ — the hounds gave tongue, and
the whole field was in motion as if the whirl of the
earth were carrying it : Gwendolen along with every-
thing else ; no word of notice to Rex, who without
a second thought followed too. Could he let Gwen-
dolen go alone ? Under other circumstances he would
have enjoyed the run, but he was just now perturbed
by the check which had been put on the impetus to
utter his love, and get utterance in return, — an im-
petus which could not at once resolve itself into a
totally different sort of chase, at least with the con-
sciousness of being on his father's gray nag, a good
horse enough in his way, but of sober years and
ecclesiastical habits, Gwendolen on her spirited
little chestnut was up with the best, and felt as
secure as an immortal goddess, having, if she had
thought of risk, a core of confidence that no ill luck

THE SPOILED CHILD. 93

would happen to her. But she thought of no such
thing, and certainly not of any risk there might be
for her cousin. If she had thought of him, it would
have struck her as a droll picture that he should be
gradually falling behind, and looking round in search
of gates : a fine lithe youth, whose heart must be
panting with all the spirit of a beagle, stuck as if
under a wizard's spell on a stiff clerical hackney,
would have made her laugh with a sense of fun
much too strong for her to reflect on his mortifica-
tion. But Gwendolen was apt to think rather of
those who saw her than of those whom she could
not see ; and Kex was soon so far behind that if she
had looked she would not have seen him. For I
grieve to say that in the search for a gate, along a lane ;
lately mended, Primrose fell, broke his knees, and
undesignedly threw Eex over his head. .

Fortunately a blacksmith's son who also followed
the hounds under disadvantages, namely, on foot (a
loose way of hunting which had struck some even
frivolous minds as immoral), was naturally also in
the rear, and happened to be within sight of Eex's
misfortune. He ran to give help which was greatly
needed, for Eex was a good deal stunned, and the
complete recovery of sensation came in the form of
pain. Joel Dagge on this occasion showed himself
that most useful of personages, whose knowledge is
of a kind suited to the immediate occasion : he not
only knew perfectly well what was the matter with
the horse, how far they were both from the nearest
public-house and from Pennicote Eectory, and could
certify to Eex that his shoulder was only a bit out
of joint, but also offered experienced surgical aid.

" Lord, sir, let me shove it in again for you! I's
see Nash the bone-setter do it, and done it myself

94 DANIEL DERONDA.

for our little Sally twice over. It 's all one and tlie
same, shoulders is. If you '11 trusten to me and
tighten your mind up a bit, I '11 do it for you in no
time."

" Come then, old fellow," said Eex, who could
tighten his mind better than his seat in the saddle.
And Joel managed the operation, though not with-
out considerable expense of pain to his patient, who
turned so pitiably pale while tightening his mind,
that Joel remarked : " Ah, sir, you are n't used to it,
that 's how it is. I 's see lots and lots o' joints out.
I see a man with his eye pushed out once, — that
was a rum go as ever I see. You can't have a bit
o' fun wi'out such a sort o' things. But it went in
again. I's swallowed three teeth mysen, as sure
as I'm alive. Now, sirrey" (this was addressed to
Primrose), " come alonk, — you must n't make believe
as you can't."

Joel being clearly a low character, it is happily
not necessary to say more of him to the refined
reader than that he helped Rex to get home with as
little delay as possible. There was no alternative
but to get home, though all the while he was in
anxiety about Gwendolen, and more miserable in the
thought that she too might have had an accident,
than in the pain of his own bruises and the annoyance
he was about to cause his father. He comforted
himself about her by reflecting that every one would
be anxious to take care of her, and that some ac-
quaintance would be sure to conduct her home.

Mr. Gascoigne was already at home, and was
writing letters in his study, when he was interrupted
by seeing poor Rex come in with a face which was
not the less handsome and ingratiating for being pale
and a little distressed. He was secretly the favourite

THE SPOILED CHILD. 95

son, and a young portrait of the father ; who, how-
ever, never treated him with any partiality, — rather,
with an extra rigour. Mr. Gascoigne, having inquired
of Anna, knew that Kex had gone with Gwendolen
to the meet at the Three Barns.

" What 's the matter ? " he said hastily, not laying
down his pen.

"I'm very sorry, sir; Primrose has fallen down
and broken his knees."

" Where have you been with him ? " said Mr.
Gascoigne, with a touch of severity. He rarely
gave way to temper.

" To the Three Barns to see the hounds throw off."

" And you were fool enough to follow ? "

" Yes, sir. I did n't go at any fences, but the
horse got his leg into a hole."

" And you got hurt yourself, I hope, eh ? "

"I got my shoulder put out, but a young black-
smith put it in again for me. I 'm Just a little
battered, that 's all."

" Well, sit down."

" I 'm very sorry about the horse, sir. I knew it
would be a vexation to you"

" And what has become of Gwendolen ? " said Mr.
Gascoigne, abruptly. Eex, who did not imagine that
his father had made any inquiries about him,
answered at first with a blush which was the more
remarkable for his previous paleness. Then he
said nervously, —

" I am anxious to know — I should like to go or
send at once to Offendene — but she rides so well,
and I think she would keep up — there would most
likely be many round her."

" I suppose it was she who led you on, eh ? " said
Mr. Gascoigne, laying down his pen, leaning back

96 DANIEL DERONDA.

in his chair, and looking at Eex with more marked
examination.

"It was natural for her to want to go ; she didn't
intend it beforehand, — she was led away by the
spirit of the thing. And of course I went when
she went."

Mr. Gascoigne left a brief interval of silence, and
then said with quiet irony : " But now you observe,
young gentleman, that you are not furnished with a
horse which will enable you to play the squire to your
cousin. You must give up that amusement. You
have spoiled my nag for me, and that is enough
mischief for one vacation. I shall beg you to get
ready to start for Southampton to-morrow and join
Stilfox, till you go up to Oxford with him. That
will be good for your bruises as well as your
studies."

Poor Eex felt his heart swelling and comporting
itself as if it had been no better than a girl's.

" I hope you will not insist on my going imme-
diately, sir "

" Do you feel too ill ? "

" No, not that — but — " Here Rex bit his lips
and felt the tears starting, to his great vexation ;
then he rallied and tried to say more firmly, " I
want to go to Offendene — but I can go this
evening."

" I am going there myself. I can bring word
about (Gwendolen, if that is wliat you want."

Eex broke down. He thouglit he discerned an
intention fatal to his happiness, nay, his life. He
was accustomed to believe in his father's pene-
tration, and to expect firmness. "Father, I can't
go awny without telling her that I love her, and
knov.'inu that she loves me."

THE SPOILED CHILD. 97

Mr. Gascoigne was inwardly going through some
self-rebuke for not being more wary, and was now
really sorry for the lad ; but every consideration
was subordinate to that of using the wisest tactics
in the case. He had quickly made up his mind,
and could answer the more quietly, —

" My dear boy, you are too young to be taking
momentous, decisive steps of that sort. This is a
fancy which you have got into your head during an
idle week or two : you must set to work at some-
thing and dismiss it. There is every reason against
it. An engagement at your age would be totally
rash and unjustifiable ; and moreover, alliances
between first cousins are undesirable. Make up
your mind to a brief disappointment. Life is full
of them. We have all got to be broken in ; and
this is a mild beginning for you."

" No, not mild. I can't bear it. I shall be good
for nothing. I should n't mind anything, if it were
settled between us. I could do anything then,"
said Rex, impetuously. " But it 's of no use to pre-
tend that I will obey you. I can't do it. If I
said I would, I should be sure tu break my word.
I should see Gwendolen again."

" Well, wait till to-morrow morning, that we may
talk of the matter again, — you will promise me
that," said Mr. Gascoigne, quietly ; and Eex did not,
could not refuse.

The Eector did not even tell his wife that he had
any other reason for going to Offendene that even-
ing than his desire to ascertain that Gwendolen had
got home safely. He found her more than safe, — ■
elated. Mr Quallon, who had won the brush, liad
delivered the trophy to her, and she had brought it
before her, fastened on the saddle; more than that,

VOL. I. — 7

98 DANIEL DERONDA.

Lord Brackenshaw had conducted her home, and
had shown himself delighted with her spirited rid-
ing. All this was told at once to her uncle, that he
might see how well justified she had been in acting
against his advice ; and the prudential Rector did
feel himself in a slight difficulty, for at that moment
he was particularly sensible that it was his niece's
serious interest to be well regarded by the Bracken-
shaws, and their opinion as to her following the
hounds really touched the essence of his objection.
However, he was not obliged to say anything
immediately, for Mrs. Davilow followed up Gwen-
dolen's brief triumphant phrases with, —

" Still, I do hope you will not do it again, Gwen-
dolen. I should never have a moment's quiet.
Her father died by an accident, you know."

Here Mrs. Davilow had turned away from Gwen-
dolen, and looked at Mr. Gascoigne.

" Mamma dear," said Gwendolen, kissing her mer-
rily, and passing over the question of the fears
which Mrs. Davilow had meant to account for,
" children don't take after their parents in broken
legs."

Not one word had yet been said about Rex. In
fact, there had been no anxiety about him at
Offendene. Gwendolen had observed to her mamma,
" Oh, he must have been left far behind, and gone
home in despair," and it could not be denied that
this was fortunate so far as it made way for Lord
Brackenshaw's bringing her home. But now Mr.
Gascoigne said, with some emphasis, looking at
Gwendolen, —

" Well, the exploit has ended better for you than
for Rex."

" Yes, I dare say he had to make a terrible

THE SPOILED CHILD. 99

round. You have not taught Primrose to take the
fences, uncle," said Gwendolen, without the faintest
shade of alarm in her looks and tone.

" Rex has had a fall," said Mr. Gascoigne, curtly,
throwing himself into an arm-chair, resting his
elbows and fitting his palms and fingers together,
while he closed his lips and looked at Gwendolen,
who said, —

" Oh, poor fellow ! he is not hurt, I hope ? " with
a correct look of anxiety such as elated mortals try
to superinduce when their pulses are all the while
quick with triumph ; and Mrs. Davilow, in the
same moment, uttered a low " Good heavens !
There ! "

Mr Gascoigne went on : " He put his shoulder
out, and got some bruises, I believe." Here he
made another little pause of observation ; but
Gwendolen, instead of any such symptoms as pallor
and silence, had only deepened the compassionate-
ness of her brow and eyes, and said again, " Oh,
poor fellow ! it is nothing serious, then ? " and Mr.
Gascoigne held his diagnosis complete. But he
wished to make assurance doubly sure, and went
on still with a purpose.

" He got his arm set again rather oddly. Some
blacksmith — not a parishioner of mine — was on
the field, — a loose fish, I suppose, but handy, and
set the arm for him immediately. So after all, I
believe, I and Primrose come off worst. The
horse's knees are cut to pieces. He came down in
a hole, it seems, and pitched Rex over his head."

Gwendolen's face had allowably become contented
again, since Rex's arm had been reset ; and now, at
the descriptive suggestions in the latter part of her
uncle's speech, her elated spirits made her features

4

loo DANIEL DERONDA.

less manageable than usual ; the smiles broke forth,
and finally a descending scale of laughter.

" You are a pretty young lady — to laugh at
other people's calamities," said Mr. Gascoigne, with
a milder sense of disapprobation than if he had not
had counteracting reasons to be glad that Gwendo-
len showed no deep feeling on the occasion.

" Pray forgive me, uncle. Now Eex is safe, it is
so droll to fancy the figure he and Primrose would
cut — in a lane all by themselves — only a black-
smith running up. It would make a capital cari-
cature of ' Following the hounds.' "

Gwendolen rather valued herself on her superior
freedom in laughing where others might only see
matter for seriousness. Indeed, the laughter became
her person so well that her opinion of its graceful-
ness was often shared by others ; and it even entered
into lier uncle's course of thought at this moment,
that it was no wonder a boy should be fascinated
by this young witch, — who, however, was more
mischievous than could be desired.

" How can you laugh at broken bones, child ? "
said Mrs. Davilow, still under her dominant anxiety.
" I wish we had never allowed you to have the horse.
You will see that we were wrong," she added, look-
ing with a grave nod at Mr. Gascoigne, — " at least
I was, to encourage her in asking for it."

" Yes, seriously, Gwendolen," said Mr. Gascoigne,
in a judicious tone of rational advice to a person
understood to be altogether rational, " I strongly
recommend you — I shall ask you to oblige me so
far — not to repeat your adventure of to-day. Lord
Brackenshaw is very kind, but I feel sure that he
would concur with me in what I say. To be spoken
of as ' the young lady who hunts ' by way of excep-

THE SPOILED CHILD. loi

tion, would give a tone to the language about you
which I am sure you would not like. Depend upon
it, his lordship would not choose that Lady Beatrice
or Lady Maria should hunt in this part of the
country, if they were old enough to do so. When
you are married, it will be different : you may do
whatever your husband sanctions. But if you
intend to hunt, you must marry a man who can
keep horses."

" I don't know why I should do anything so hor-
rible as to marry without that prospect, at least," said
Gwendolen, pettishly. Her uncle's speech had given
her annoyance, which she could not show more
directly ; but she felt that she was committing her-
self, and after moving carelessly to another part of
the room, went out.

" She always speaks in that way about marriage,"
said Mrs. Davilow ; " but it will be different when
she has seen the right person."

" Her heart has never been in the least touched,
that you know of ? " said Mr. Gascoigne.

Mrs. Davilow shook her head silently. " It was
only last night she said to me, ' Mamma, I wonder
how girls manage to fall in love. It is easy to make
them do it in books. But men are too ridiculous.' "

Mr. Gascoigne laughed a little, and made no
further remark on the subject. The next morning
at breakfast he said, —

" How are your bruises, Eex ? "

" Oh, not very mellow yet, sir ; only beginning to
turn a little."

"You don't feel quite ready for a journey to
Southampton ?"

" Not quite," answered Eex, with his heart meta-
phorically in his mouth.

I02 DANIEL DERONDA.

" Well, you can wait till to-morrow, and go to
say good-by to them at Offendene."

Mrs. Gascoigne, who now knew the whole affair,
looked steadily at her coffee lest she also should
bc^'in to cry, as Anna was doing already.

Mr. Gascoigne felt that he was applying a sharp
remedy to poor Kex's acute attack, but he believed
it to be in the end the kindest. To let him know
the hopelessness of his love from Gwendolen's
own lips might be curative in more ways than
one.

" I can only be thankful that she does n't care
about him," said Mrs Gascoigne, when she joined
her husband in his study. " There are things in
Gwendolen I cannot reconcile myself to. My Anna
is worth two of her, with all her beauty and talent.
It looks so very ill in her that she will not help in the
schools with Anna, — not even in the Sunday-school.
What you or I advise is of no consequence to her ;
and poor Fanny is completely under her thumb.
But I know you think better of her," Mrs. Gascoigne
ended with a deferential hesitation.

" Oh, my dear, there is no harm in the girl. It
is only that she has a high spirit, and it will not do
to hold the reins too tight. The point is, to get her
well married. She has a little too much fire in her
for her present life with her mother and sisters. It .
is natural and right that she should be married soon,
— not to a poor man, but one who can give her a
fitting position."

Presently Eex, with his arm in a sling, was on
his two miles' walk to Offendene. He was rather
puzzled by the unconditional permission to see
Gwendolen, but his father's real ground of action
cuulJ not enter into his conjectures. If it had, he

THE SPOILED CHILD. 103

would first have thought it horribly cold-blooded,
and then have disbelieved in his father's conclusions.

When he got to the house, everybody was there
but Gwendolen. The four girls, hearing him speak
in the hall, rushed out of the library, which was their
schoolroom, and hung round him with compassion-
ate inquiries about his arm. Mrs. Davilow wanted
to know exactly what had happened, and where the
blacksmith lived, that she might make him a pre-
sent; while Miss Merry, who took a subdued and
melancholy part in all family affairs, doubted whether
it would not be giving too much encouragement to
that kind of character. Eex had never found the
family troublesome before, but just now he wished
them all away and Gwendolen there, and he was
too uneasy for good-natured feigning. When at last
he had said, " Where is Gwendolen ? " and Mrs.
Davilow had told Alice to go and see if her sister
were come down, adding, " I sent up her break-
fast this morning ; she needed a long rest," — Eex
took the shortest way out of his endurance by say-
ing, almost impatiently, " Aunt, I want to speak to
Gwendolen, — I want to see her alone."

"Very well, dear; go into the drawing-room. I
will send her there," said Mrs. Davilow, who had
observed that he was fond of being with Gwendolen,
as was natural, but had not thought of this as hav-
ing any bearing on the realities of life : it seemed
merely part of the Christmas holidays which were
spinning themselves out

Eex for his part felt that the realities of life were
all hanging on this interview. He had to walk up
and down the drawing-room in expectation for nearly
ten minutes, — ample space for all imaginative fluc-
tuations ; yet, strange to say, he was unvaryingly

I04 DANIEL DEEONDA.

occupied in tliinkiiig what and liow much he could
do, when Gwendolen had accepted him, to satisfy
his father that the engagement was the most pru-
dent thing in the world, since it inspired him with
double energy for work. He was to be a lawyer,
and what reason was there why he should not rise
as high as Eldon did ? He was forced to look at
life in the light of his father's mind.

But when the door opened and she whose pre-
sence he was longing for entered, there came over
him suddenly and mysteriously a state of tremor
and distrust which he had never felt before. Miss
Gwendolen, simple as she stood there, in her black
silk, cut square about the round white pillar of
her throat, a black band fastening her hair which
streamed backwards in smooth silky abundance,
seemed more queenly than usual. Perhaps it was
that there was none of the latent fun and tricksi-
ness which had always pierced in her greeting of
Rex. How much of this was due to her presenti-
ment from what he had said yesterday that he was
"oiu'T; to talk of love ? How much from her desire
to show regret about his accident ? Something of
both. But the wisdom of ages has hinted that there
is a side of the bed which has a malign influence if
you happen to get out on it ; and this accident befalls
some charming persons rather frequently. Perhaps
it had befallen Gwendolen this morning. The hast-
ening of her toilet, the way in which Bugle used
the brush, the quality of the shilling serial mis-
takenly written for her amusement, the probabilities
of the coming day, and, in short, social institutions
generally, were all objectionable to her. It was not
that she was out of temper, but that the world was
not equal to the demands of her fine organism.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 105

However it might be, Eex saw an awful majesty
about her as she entered and put out her hand to
him, without the least approach to a smile in eyes
or mouth. The fun which had moved her in the
evening had quite evaporated from the image of his
accident, and the whole affair seemed stupid to her.
But she said with perfect propriety, " I hope you are
not much hurt, Rex ; I deserve that you should re-
proach me for your accident."

" Not at all," said Eex, feeling the soul within him
spreading itself like an attack of illness. " There is
hardly anything the matter with me. I am so glad
you had the pleasure : I would willingly pay for it
by a tumble, only I was sorry to break the horse's
knees."

Gwendolen walked to the hearth, and stood look-
ing at the fire in the most inconvenient way for con-
versation, so that he could only get a side view of
her face.

" My father wants me to go to Southampton for
the rest of the vacation," said Rex, his barytone
trembling a little.

" Southampton ! That 's a stupid place to go to,
is n't it ? " said Gwendolen, chilly.

" It would be to me, because you would not be
there."

Silence.

" Should you mind about my going away,
Gwendolen ? "

" Of course. Every one is of consequence in this
dreary country," said Gwendolen, curtly. The per-
ception that poor Rex wanted to be tender made
her curl up and harden like a sea-anemone at the
touch of a finger.

" Are you angry with me, Gwendolen ? Why do

io6 DANIEL DERONDA.

you treat me in this way all at once ? " said Kex,
flushing, and with more spirit in his voice, as if he
too were capable of being angry.

Gwendolen looked round at him and smiled.
"Treat you? Nonsense! I am only rather cross.
Why did you come so very early ? You must ex-
pect to find tempers in dishabille."

" Be as cross with me as you like, — only don't
treat me with indifference," said Eex, imploringly.
" All the happiness of my life depends on your lov-
ing me — if only a little — better than any one
else."

He tried to take her hand, but she hastily eluded
his grasp, and moved to the other end of the hearth,
facing him,

" Pray don't make love to me ! I hate it." She
looked at him fiercely.

Eex turned pale and was silent, but could not
take his eyes off her, and the impetus was not yet
exhausted that made hers dart death at him. Gwen-
dolen herself could not have foreseen that she should
feel in this way. It was all a sudden, new experi-
ence to her The day before she had been quite
aware that her cousin was in love with her,- — she
did not mind how much, so that he said nothing
about it; and if any one had asked her why she
objected to love-making speeches, she would have
said laughingly, " Oh, I am tired of them all in the
books." But now the life of passion had begun
negatively in her. She felt passionately averse to
this volunteered love.

To Rex at twenty the joy of life seemed at an
end more absolutely than it can do to a man at
forty. But before they had ceased to look at each
other, he did speak again.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 107

"Is that the last word you have to say to me,
Gwendolen ? Will it always be so ? "

She could not help seeing his wretchedness and
feeling a little regret for the old Rex who had not
offended her. Decisively, but yet with some return
of kindliness, she said, —

" About making love ? Yes. But I don't dislike
you for anything else "

There was just a perceptible pause before he said
a low " good-by," and passed out of the room.
Almost immediately after, she heard the heavy
hall-door bang behind him.

Mrs. Davilow, too, had heard Eex's hasty depar-
ture, and presently came into the drawing-room,
where she found Gwendolen seated on the low
couch, her face buried, and her hair falling over her
figure like a garment. She was sobbing bitterly.
" My child, my child, what is it ? " cried the mother,
who had never before seen her darling struck down
in this way, and felt something of the alarmed
anguish that women feel at the sight of overpower-
ing sorrow in a strong man; for this child had been
her ruler. Sitting down by her with circling arms,
she pressed her cheek against Gwendolen's head,
and then tried to draw it upward. Gwendolen gave
way, and letting her head rest against her mother,
cried out sobbingly, "Oh, mamma, what can become
of my life ? there is nothing worth living for ! "

" Why, dear ? " said Mrs Davilow. Usually she
herself had been rebuked by her daughter for
involuntary signs of despair.

"I shall never love anybody. I can't love people.
I hate them."

" TTTe time will come, dear, the time will come,"

Gwendolen was more and more convulsed with

io8 DANIEL DERONDA.

sobbing ; but, putting her arms round her mother's
neck with an almost painful clinging, she said
brokenly, " I can't bear any one to be very near me
but you."

Then the mother began to sob, for this spoiled
child had never shown such dependence on her
before; and so they clung to each other.

CHAPTEE VIII.

" What name doth Joy most borrow
Wheu life is fair?

' To-morrow.'

" What name doth best fit Sorrow
In young despairl

' To-morrow.' "

There was a much more lasting trouble at the ReC"
tory. Rex arrived there only to throw himself ou
his bed in a state of apparent apathy, unbroken
till the next day, when it began to be interrupted /
by more positive signs of illness. Nothing could '^
be said about his going to Southampton : instead
of that the chief thought of his mother and Anna
was how to tend this patient who did not want to
be well, and from being the brightest, most grateful
spirit in the household, was metamorphosed into
an irresponsive, dull-eyed creature who met all
affectionate attempts with a murmur of " Let me
alone." His father looked beyond the crisis, and
believed it to be the shortest way out of an unlucky
affair ; but he was sorry for the inevitable suffering,
and went now and then to sit by him in silence for
a few minutes, parting with a gentle pressure of his
hand on Rex's blank brow, and a " God bless you,
my boy." Warham and the younger children used
to peep round the edge of the door to see this
incredible thing of their lively brother being laid
low ; but fingers were immediately shaken at them
to drive them back. The guardian who was always
there was Anna, and lier little hand was allowed to

no DANIEL DERONDA.

rest within lier brother's, though he never gave it a
welcoming pressure. Her soul was divided between
anguish for Rex and reproach of Gwendolen.

" Perliaps it is wicked of me, but I think I never
can love her again," came as the recurrent burthen
of poor little Anna's inward monody. And even
Mrs. Gascoigne had an angry feeling towards her
niece which she could not refrain from expressing
(apologetically) to her husband.

" I know of course it is better, and we ought to
be thankful that she is not in love with the poor
boy ; but, really, Henry, I think she is hard : she
has the heart of a coquette. I cannot help think-
ing that she must have made him believe something,
or the disappointment would not have taken hold
of him in that way. And some blame attaches to
poor Fanny ; she is quite blind about that girl. "

Mr. Gascoigne answered imperatively : " The less
said on that point the better, Nancy. I ought to
have been more awake myself. As to the boy, be
thankful if nothing worse ever happens to him.
Let the thing die out as quickly as possible ; and
especially with regard to Gwendolen, — let it be as
if it had never been."

The Rector's dominant feeling was that there had
been a great escape. Gwendolen in love with Rex
in return would have made a much harder problem,
the solution of which might have been taken out of
his hands. But he had to go through some further
difficulty.

One fine morning Rex asked for his bath, and
made his toilet as usual. Anna, full of excitement
at this change, could do nothing but listen for his
coming down, and at last licaring his step, ran to
the foot of the stairs to meet him. For the first

THE SPOILED CHILD. in

time he gave her a faint smile, but it looked so
melancholy on his pale face that she could hardly
help crying.

" Nannie ! " he said gently, taking her hand and
leading her slowly along with him to the drawing-
room. His mother was there ; and when she came
to kiss him, he said, " What a plague I am ! "

Then he sat still and looked out of the bow-
window on the lawn and shrubs covered with hoar-
frost, across which the sun was sending faint
occasional gleams, — something like that sad smile
on Kex's face, Anna thought. He felt as if he had
had a resurrection into a new world, and did not
know what to do with himself there, the old
interests being left behind. Anna sat near him,
pretending to work, but really watching him with
yearning looks. Beyond the garden hedge there
was a road where wagons and carts sometimes went
on field-work : a railed opening was made in the
hedge, because the upland with its bordering wood
and clump of ash-trees against the sky was a pretty
sight. Presently there came along a wagon laden
with timber ; the horses were straining their grand
muscles, and the driver, having cracked his whip,
ran along anxiously to guide the leader's head,
fearing a swerve. Kex seemed to be shaken into
attention, rose and looked till the last quivering
trunk of the timber had disappeared, and then
walked once or twice along the room. Mrs. Gas-
coigne was no longer there, and when he came to
sit down again, Anna, seeing a return of speech in
her brother's eyes, could not resist the impulse to
bring a little stool and seat herself against his
knee, looking up at him with an expression which
seemed to say, " Do speak to me." And he spoke.

112 DANIEL DERONDA.

"I '11 tell you what I 'm thinking of, Nannie. I
V will go to Canada, or somewhere of that sort."
(Rex had not studied the character of our colonial
possessions.)

" Oh, Eex, not for always ! "

" Yes, to get my bread there. I should like to
build a hut, and work hard at clearing, and have
everything wild about me, and a great wide quiet."

" And not take me with you ? " said Anna, the
big tears coming fast.

" How could I ? "

" I should like it better than anything ; and
settlers go with their families. I would sooner go
there than stay here in England. I could make the
fires, and mend the clothes, and cook the food ; and
I could learn how to make the bread before we
went. It would be nicer than anything — like
playing at life over again, as we used to do when we
made our tent with the drugget, and had our little
plates and dishes."

" Father and mother would not let you go."

'* Yes, I think they would, when I explained every-
thing. It would save money ; and papa would have
more to bring up the boys with."

There was further talk of the same practical kind
at intervals, and it ended in Rex's being obliged to
consent that Anna should go with him when he spoke
to his father on the subject.

Of course it was when the Rector was alone in his
study. Their mother would become reconciled to
whatever he decided on ; but mentioned to her first,
the question would have distressed her.

"Well, my children!" said Mr. Gascoigne, cheer-
fully, as they entered. It was a comfort to see Rex
about again.

THE SPOILED CHILD. 113

" May we sit down with you a little, papa ? " said
Anna, " Eex has something to say."

" With all my heart."

It was a noticeable group that these three crea-
tures made, each of them with a face of the same
structural type, — the straight brow, the nose sud-
denly straightened from an intention of being
aquiline, the short upper lip, the short but strong
and well-hung chin : there was even the same tone
of complexion and set of the eye. The gray-haired
father was at once massive and keen-looking ; there
was a perpendicular line in his brow which when
he spoke with any force of interest deepened; and
the habit of ruling gave him an air of reserved
authoritativeness. Eex would have seemed a vision
of the father's youth, if it had been possible to
imagine Mr. Gascoigne without distinct plans and
without command, smitten with a heart sorrow, and
bavins no more notion of concealment than a sick
animal; and Anna was a tiny copy of Eex, with
hair drawn back and knotted, her face following his
in its changes of expression, as if they had one soul
between them.

" You know ail about what has upset me, father,"
Eex began ; and Mr. Gascoigne nodded.

" I am quite done up for life in this part of the
world. T am sure it will be no use my going back
to Oxford. I could n't do any reading. I should
fail, and cause you expense for nothing. I want to
have your consent to take another course, sir."

Mr. Gascoigne nodded more slowly, the perpen-
dicular line on his brow deepened, and Anna's
trembling increased

" If you would allow me a small outfit, I slmuld
like to rro to tlie colonios nnd work on the land

114 DANIEL DEEONDA.

there.'' Eex thought the vagueness of the phrase
prudential ; " the colonies " necessarily embracing
more advantages, and being less capable of being
rebutted on a single ground than any particular
settlement.

" Oh, and with me, papa," said Anna, not bearing
to be left out from the proposal even temporarily.
" Kex would want some one to take care of him, you
know, — some one to keep house. And we shall
never, either of us, be married. And I should cost
nothing, and I should be so happy. I know it
would be hard to leave you and mamma ; but there
are all the others to bring up, and we two should be
no trouble to you any more."

Anna had risen from her seat, and used the femi-
nine argument of going closer to her papa as she
spoke. He did not smile, but he drew her on his
knee and held her there, as if to put her gently out
of the question while he spoke to Rex.

" You will admit that my experience gives me
some power of judging for you, and that I can prob-
ably guide you in practical matters better than you
can guide yourself ? "

Rex was obliged to say, " Yes, sir."

"And perhaps you will admit — though I don't
wish to press that point — that you are bound in
duty to consider my judgment and wishes ? "

" I have never yet placed myself in opposition to
you, sir." Rex in his secret soul could not feel that
he was bound not to go to the colonies, but to go to
Oxford again, — which was the point in question.

" But you will do so if you persist in setting your
mind towards a rash and foolish procedure, and
deafening yourself to considerations which my expe-
rience of life assures nie of. You think, I suppose,

THE SPOILED CHILD. 115

that you have had a shock which has changed all
your inclinations, stupefied your brains, unfitted you
for anything but manual labour, and given you a
dislike to society ? Is that what you believe ? "

" Something like that. I shall never be up to the
sort of work I must do to live in this part of the
world. I have not the spirit for it. I shall never
be the same again. And without any disrespect to
you, father, I think a young fellow should be allowed
to choose his way of life, if he does nobody any harm.
There are plenty to stay at home, and those who
like might be allowed to go where there are empty
places."

" But suppose I am convinced on good evidence — •
as I am — that this state of mind of yours is tran-
sient, and that if you went off as you propose, you
would by and by repent, and feel that you had let
yourself slip back from the point you have been
gaining by your education till now ? Have you not
strength of mind enough to see that you had better
act on my assurance for a time, and test it ? In my
opinion, so far from agreeing with you that you
should be free to turn yourself into a colonist and
work in your shirt-sleeves with spade and hatchet
— in my opinion you have no right whatever to
expatriate yourself until you have honestly endeav-
oured to turn to account the education you have
received here. I say nothing of the grief to your
mother and me."

" I 'm very sorry ; but what can I do ? I can't
study, — that 's certain," said Eex.

" Not just now, perhaps. You will have to miss
a term. I have made arrangements for you, — how
you are to spend the next two months. But I con-
fess I am disappointed in yuu. Ilex, i thouglit you

ii6 DANIEL DERONDA.

had more sense than to take up such ideas, — to
suppose that because you have fallen into a very
common trouble, such as most men have to go
through, you are loosened from all bonds of duty, —
just as if your brain had softened and you were no
longer a responsible being "

What could Eex say ? Inwardly he was in a
state of rebellion, but he had no arguments to meet
his father's ; and while he was feeling, in spite of
anything that might be said, that he should like to
go off to " the colonies " to-morrow, it lay in a deep
fold of his consciousness that he ought to feel — if
he had been a better fellow he would have felt —
more about his old ties. This is the sort of faith
-^ we live by in our soul-sicknesses.

Eex got up from his seat, as if he held the con-
ference to be at an end. " You assent to my
arrangement, then ? " said Mr. Gascoigne, with that
distinct resolution of tone which seems to hold one
in a vice.

There was a little pause before Eex answered,
" I '11 try what I can do, sir. I can't promise." His
thought was that trying would be of no use.

Her father kept Anna, holding her fast, though
she wanted to follow Eex. " Oh, papa," she said,
the tears coming with her words when the door had
closed ; " it is very hard for him. Does n't he
look ill?"

" Yes, but he will soon be better ; it will all blow
over. And now, Anna, be as quiet as a mouse about
it all. Never let it be mentioned when he is gone."

" No, papa. But I would not be like Gwendolen
for anything, — to have people fall in love with me
so. It is very dreadful."

Anna dared not say that she was disappointed at

THE SPOILED CHILD. 117

not being allowed to go to the colonies with Eex ;
but that was her secret feeling, and she often after-
wards went inwardly over the whole affair, saying
to herself, " I should have done with going out, and
gloves, and crinoline, and having to talk when I am
taken to dinner — and all that ! "

I lilce to mark the time, and connect the course of
individual lives with the historic stream, for all
classes of thinkers. This was the period when the
broadening of gauge in crinolines seemed to demand
an agitation for the general enlargement of churches,
ball-rooms, and vehicles. But Anna Gascoigne's
figure would only allow the size of skirt manufactured
for young ladies of fourteen.

CHAPTER IX.

"I '11 tell thee, Eerthold, what men's hopes are like :
A silly cliild tliat, (juivering with joy,
Would cast its little mimic fishing-line
Baited with loadstone for a bowl of toys
In the salt ocean."

Eight months after the arrival of the family at
Offendeue, that is to say, in the end of the follow-
ing June, a rumour was spread in the neighbourhood
which to many persons was matter of exciting
interest. It had no reference to the results of
the American war, hut it was one which touched
all classes within a certain circuit round Wanches-
ter : the corn-factors, the brewers, the horse-dealers,
and saddlers, all held it a laudable thing, and one
which was to he rejoiced in on abstract grounds,
as showing the value of an aristocracy in a free
country like England ; the blacksmith in the hamlet
of Diplow felt that a good time had come round ; the
wives of labouring men hoped their nimble boys of
ten or twelve would be taken into employ by the
gentlemen in livery ; and the farmers about Diplow
admitted, with a tincture of bitterness and reserve,
tliat a man miglit now again perhaps have an easier
market or exchange for a rick of old hay or a wagon-
load of straw. If such were the hopes of low persons
not in society, it may be easily inferred that their
betters had better reasons for satisfaction, probably
connected with the pleasures of life rather than its
business. Marriage, however, must be considered as
coming under botli heads ; and just as when a visit

THE SPOILED CHILD. 119

of majesty is announced, tlie dream of knighthood
or a baronetcy is to be found under various muni-
cipal nightcaps, so the news in question raised a
floating indeterminate vision of marriage in several
well-bred imaginations.

The news was that Diplow Hall, Sir Hugo Mal-
linger's place, which had for a couple of years
turned its white window- shutters in a painfully
wall-eyed manner on its fine elms and beeches,
its lilied pool and grassy acres specked with deer,
was being prepared for a tenant, and was for the
rest of the summer and through the hunting season
to be inhabited in a fitting style both as to house
and stable. But not by Sir Hugo himself: by his
nephew Mr. Mallinger Grandcourt, who was presump-
tive heir to the baronetcy, his uncle's marriage having
produced nothing but girls. Nor was this the only
contingency with which fortune flattered young
Grandcourt, as he was pleasantly called ; for while the
chance of the baronetcy came through his father,
his mother had given a baronial streak to his blood,
so that if certain intervening persons slightly painted
in the middle distance died, he would become a
baron and peer of this realm.

It is the uneven allotment of nature that tlie
male bird alone has the tuft, but wo have not yet
followed the advice of hasty philosophers who would
have us copy nature entirely in these matters ; and
if Mr. Mallinger Grandcourt became a baronet or a
peer, his wife would share the title, — which in
addition to his actual fortune was certainly a
reason why that wife, being at present unchosen,
should be thought of by more than one person
with sympathetic interest as a woman sure to be
well provided for,

126 DANIEL DERONDA.

Some readers of tliis history will doubtless regard
it as incredible that people should construct mat-
rimonial prospects on the mere report that a bachelor
of good fortune and possibilities was coming within
reach, and will reject the statement as a mere
outflow of gall : they will aver that neither they nor
their first cousins have minds so unbridled ; and
that in fact this is not human nature, which would
know that such speculations might turn out to be
fallacious, and would therefore not entertain them.
But, let it be observed, nothing is here narrated of
human nature generally : the history in its present
.stage concerns only a few people in a corner of
Wessex, — whose reputation, however, was unim-
peached, and who, I am in the proud position of
being able to state, were all on visiting terms with
persons of rank.

There were the Arrowpoints, for example, in their
beautiful place at Qiietcham : no one could attribute
sordid views in relation to their daughter's marriao;e
to parents who could leave her at least half a mil-
lion ; but having affectionate -anxieties about their
Catherine's position (she having resolutely refused
Lord Slogan, an unexceptionable Irish peer, whose
estate wanted nothing but drainage and popula-
tion), they wondered, perhaps from something more
than a charitable impulse, whether Mr. Grandcourt
was good-looking, of sound constitution, virtuous
or at least reformed, and if liberal-conservative,
not too liberal-conservative ; and without wishing
anybody to die, thought his succession to the title
an event to be desired.

If the Arrowpoints had such ruminations, it is
the less surprising thnt they were stimulated in
Mr. Gascoigne, who for being a clergyman was

THE SPOILED CHILD. lit

not the less subject to the anxieties of a parent
and guardian ; and we have seen how both he
and Mrs Gascoigne might by this time have come
to feel that he was overcharged with the manage-
ment of young creatures who were hardly to be
held in with bit or bridle, or any sort of metaphor
that would stand for judicious advice.

Naturally, people did not tell each other all they
felt and thought about young Grandcourt's advent :
on no subject is this openness found prudentially
practicable, — not even on the generation of acids
or the destination of the fixed stars ; for either your
contemporary with a mind turned towards the
same subjects may find your ideas ingenious and
forestall you in applying them, or he may have
other views on acids and fixed stars, and think ill
of you in consequence, Mr. Gascoigne did not
ask Mr. Arrowpoint if he had any trustworthy
source of information about Grandcourt considered
as a husband for a charming girl; nor did Mrs
Arrowpoint observe to Mrs. Davilow that if the
possible peer sought a wife in the neighbourhood of
Diplow, the only reasonable expectation was that
he would offer his hand to Catherine, who, liowever,
would not accept him unless he were in all respects
fitted to secure her happiness. Indeed, even to his
wife the Rector was silent as to the contemplation
of any matrimonial result, from the probability that
Mr. Grandcourt would see Gwendolen at the next
Archery Meeting ; though Mrs, Gascoigne's mind
was very likely still more active in the same direc-
tion. She had said interjectionally to her sister,
" It would be a mercy, Fanny, if that girl were
well married ! " to which Mrs. Davilow, discerning
some criticism of her darliii;: iu the fervour of that

122 DANIEL DERONDA.

wish, had not chosen to make any audible reply,
though she had said inwardly, "You will not get
her to marry for your pleasure ; " the mild mother
becoming rather saucy when she identified her-
self with her daughter.

To her husband Mrs. Gascoigne said : " I hear
Mr. Grandcourt has two places of his own, but he
comes to Diplow for the hunting. It is to be
hoped he will set a good example in the neighbour-
hood. Have you heard what sort of young man
he is, Henry ? "

Mr. Gascoigne had not heard ; at least, if his male
acquaintances had gossiped in his hearing, he was
not disposed to repeat their gossip, or give it any
emphasis in his own mind. He held it futile, even
if it had been becoming, to show any curiosity as
to the past of a young man whose birth, wealth,
and consequent leisure made many habits venial
which under other circumstances would have been
inexcusable. Whatever Grandcourt had done, he
had not ruined himself ; and it is well known that
in gambling, for example, whether of the business
or holiday sort, a man who has the strength of mind
to leave off when he has only ruined others, is a
reformed character. This is an illustration merely :
Mr. Gascoigne had not heard that Grandcourt had
been a gambler ; and we can hardly pronounce him
singular in feeling that a landed proprietor with a
mixture of noble blood in his veins was not to be
an object of suspicious inquiry like a reformed char-
/ acter who offers himself as your butler or footman.
( Reformation wliere a man can afford to do without
\ it, can hardly be other than genuine. Moreover,
rt^ was not certain on any showing hitherto that
Mr. Grandcourt had needed reformation more than

THE SPOILED CHILD. 123

other young men in the ripe youth of five-and-
thirty; and, at any rate, the significance of what
he had been must be determined by what he actu-
ally was.

Mrs. Davilow, too, although she would not respond
to her sister's pregnant remark, could not be inwardly
indifferent to an event that might promise a brilliant
lot for Gwendolen. A little speculation on "what
may be " comes naturally, without encouragement,
— comes inevitably in the form of images, when
unknown persons are mentioned ; and Mr. Grand-
court's name raised in Mrs. Davilow's mind first of
all the picture of a handsome, accomplished, excel-
lent young man whom she would be satisfied with
as a husband for her daughter; but then came the ,:7,
further speculation, — would Gwendolen, be. satisfied _,'"'"'
with him ?__.Ther£^-3Kas-,jio knowing what would
meet that girl's taste or touch her affections, — it
might be something else than excellence ; and thus
the^ image of the perfect suitor gave way before
a fluctuating combination of qualities that might
be imagined to win Gwendolen's heart. In the
difficulty of arriving at the particular combination
which would insure that result, the mother even
said to herself, " It would not signify about her /
being in love, if she would only accept the right
person." For w^hatever marriage had been for
herself, how could she the less desire it for her
daughter ? The difference her own misfortunes
made was, that she never dared to dwell much to
Gwendolen on the desirableness of marriage, dread-
ing an answer something like that of the future
Madame Koland, when her gentle mother urging
the acceptance of a suitor, said, " Tu seras heureuse,
ma chfere." " Qui, maman, comme toi."

124 DANIEL DERONDA.

In relation to the problematic Mr. Graudcourt
least of all would Mrs. Davilow have willingly let
fall a hint of the aerial castle-building which she
had the good taste to be ashamed of ; for such a
hint was likely enough to give an adverse poise to
Gwendolen's own thought, and make her detest the
desirable husband beforehand. Since that scene
after poor Kex's farewell visit, the mother had felt
a new sense of peril in touching the mystery of her
child's feeling, and in rashly determining what was
her welfare : only she could think of welfare in no
other shape than marriage.

The discussion of the dress that Gwendolen was
to wear at the Archery Meeting was a relevant
topic, however ; and when it had been decided that
as a touch of colour on her white cashmere, nothing,
for her complexion, was comparable to pale green, —
a feather which she was trying in her hat before
the looking-glass having settled the question, —
Mrs. Davilow felt her ears tingle when Gwendolen,
suddenly throwing herself into the attitude of draw-
ing her bow, said with a look of comic enjoyment, —

"How I pity all the other girls at the_ Archery
Meeting, — all thinking of Mr. Grandcourt ! And
they have not a shadow of a chance."

Mrs. Davilow had not presence of mind to answer
immediately, and Gwendolen turned quickly round
towards her, saying wickedly, —

"Now you know they have not, mamma. You
and my uncle and aunt, — you all intend him to
fall in love with me."

Mrs. Davilow, piqued into a little stratagem, said,
" Oh, my dear, that is not so certain. Miss Arrow-
point has charms which you have not."

" I know ; but they demand thought. My arrow

THE SPOILED CHILD. 125

will ^pierce him before he has time for thought.
He will declare himself my slave — I shall send
him round the world to bring me back the wedding-
ring of a happy woman — in the mean time all the
men who are between him and the title will die of
different diseases — he will come back Lord Grand-
court — but without the ring — and fall at my feet.
I shall laugh at hira — he will rise in resentment —
I shall laugh more — he will call for his steed and
ride to Quetcham, where he will find Miss Arrow-
point just married to a needy musician, Mrs.
Arrowpoint tearing her cap off, and Mr. Arrowpoint
standing by. Exit Lord Grandcourt, who returns
to Diplow, and, like M. Jabot, change de linge."

Was ever any young witch like this ? You
thought of hiding things from her, — sat upon your
secret and looked innocent, and all the while she
knew by the corner of your eye that it was exactly
five pounds ten you were sitting on ! As well turn
the key to keep out the damp ! It was probable
that by dint of divination she already knew more
than any one else did of Mr. Grandcourt. That
idea in Mrs. Davilow's mind prompted the sort of
question which often comes without any other
apparent reason than the faculty of speech and the
not knowing what to do with it.

" Why, what kind of man do ycu imagine him
to be, Gwendolen ? "

" Let me see ! " said the witch, putting her fore-
finger to her lips with a little frown, and then
stretching out the finger with decision. " Short —
just above my shoulder — trying to make himself
tall by turning up his mustache and keeping his
beard long — a glass in his right eye to give him
an air of distinction — a strong opinion about his

126 DANIEL DERONDA.

waistcoat, but uncertain and trimming about the
weather, on which he will try to draw me out. He
will stare at me all the while, and the glass in his
eye will cause him to make horrible faces, espe-
cially when he smiles in a flattering way. I shall
cast down my eyes in consequence, and he will per-
ceive that I am not indifferent to his attentions. I
shall dream that night that I am looking at the
extraordinary face of a magnified insect, — and the
next morning he will make me an offer of his hand ;
the sequel as before."

"That is a portrait of some one you have seen
already, Gwen. Mr Grandcourt may be a delight-
ful young man for what you know."

" Oh, yes," said Gwendolen, with a high note of
careless admission, taking off her best hat and turn-
ing it round on her hand contemplatively. " I
wonder what sort of behaviour a delightful young
man would have ? " Then, with a merry change of
face, " I know he would have hunters and racers,
and a London house and two country houses, —
one with battlements and another with a veranda.
And I feel sure that with a little murdering he
might get a title."

The irony of this speech was of the doubtful sort
that has some genuine belief mixed up with it.
Poor Mrs Davilow felt uncomfortable under it,
her own meanings being usuallv literal and in
intention innocent ; and she said, with a distressed
brow, —

" Don't talk in that way, child, for heaven's sake !
You do read such books, — they give you such ideas
of everything. I declare, when your aunt and I
were your age we knew nothing about wickedness.
I think it was better so."

THE SPOILED CHILD. 127

" Why did you not Taring nie up in that way,
mamma ? " said Gwendolen. But immediately per-
ceiving in the crushed look and rising sob that she
had given a deep wound, she tossed down her hat
and knelt at her mother's feet, crying, ■ — -

" Mamma, mamma I I was only speaking in fun.
I meant nothing."

" How could I, Gwendolen ? " said poor Mrs.
Davilow, unable to hear the retractation, and sob-
bing violently while she made the effort to speak. ^
" Your will was always too strong for me — if v
everything else had been different."

This disjointed logic was intelligible enough to
the daughter. "Dear mamma, I don't find fault
with you, — I love you," said Gwendolen, really !
compunctious. "How can you help what I am? (
Besides, I am very charming. Come now." Here
Gwendolen with her handkerchief gently rubbed |
away her mother's tears. "Eeally — -I am contented \
with myself, I like myself better than I should
have liked my aunt and you. How dreadfully dull
you must have been ! "

Such tender cajolery served to quiet the mother,
as it had often done before after like collisions.
Not that the collisions had often been repeated at
the same point ; for in the memory of both they
left an association of dread with the particular
topics which had occasioned them : Gwendolen
dreaded the unpleasant sense of compunction to-
wards her mother, w^hich was the nearest approach
to self-condemnation and self-distrust that she had
known ; and Mrs. Davilow's timid maternal con-
science dreaded whatev'er had brought on the
slightest hint of reproaclL Hence, after this little
scene, the two concurred in excluding Mr. Grand-
court from their conversation.

128 DANIEL DEIIONDA.

When Mr. rjascoigne once or twice referred to
him, Mrs. Davilow feared lest Gwendolen should
betray some of her alarming keen-siglitedness about
what was probably in her uncle's mind ; but the
fear was not justified. Gwendolen knew; certain
differences in the characters with which she was
concerned as birds know climate and weather ; and,
for the very reason that she was determined to
evade her uncle's control, she was determined not
to. clash with him. The good understanding be-
tween them was much fostered by their enjoyment
of archery together : Mr. Gascoigne, as one of the
best bowmen in Wessex, was gratified to find the
elements of like skill in his niece ; and Gwendolen
was the more careful not to lose the shelter of his
fatherly indulgence, because since the trouble with
Eex botli Mrs. Gascoigne and Anna had been unable
to hid« what she felt to be a very unreasonable
alienation from her. Towards Anna she took some
pains to behave with a regretful affectionateness ; but
neither of them dared to mention liex's name, and
Anna, to whom the thought of him was part of the
air she breathed, was ill at ease with the lively
cousin who had ruined his happiness. She tried
dutifully to repress any sign of her changed feeling;
l)ut who in pain can imitate the glance and hand-
touch of pleasure ?

This unfair resentment had rather a hardening
effect on Gwendolen, and threw her into a more
defiant temper. Her uncle too might be offended
if she refused the next person who fell in love with
her ; and one day when that idea was in her mind
she said, —

" Mamma, I see now why girls are glad to be
married, — to escape being expected to please every-
body but themselves."

THE SPOILED CHILD. 129

Happily, Mr. Middleton was gone without having
made any avowal ; and notwithstanding the admira-
tion for the handsome Miss Harleth, extending per-
haps over thirty square miles in a part of Wessex
well studded with families whose members included
several disengaged young men, each glad to seat him-
self by the lively girl with whom it was so easy
to get on in conversation, — notwithstanding these
grounds for arguing that Gwendolen was likely to
have other suitors more explicit than the cautious
curate, the fact was not so.

Care has been taken not only that the trees
should not sweep the stars down, but also that
every man who admires a fair girl should not be
enamoured of her, and even that every man who is
enamoured should not necessarily declare himself.
There are various refined shapes in which the price
of corn, known to be a potent cause in this relation,
might, if inquired into, show why a young lady,
perfect in person, accomplishments, and costume,
has not the trouble of rejecting many offers ; and
nature's order is certainly benignant in not obliging
us one and all to be desperately in love with the
most admirable mortal we have ever seen. Gwen-
dolen, we know, was far from holding that supre-
macy in t]ie minds of all observers. Besides, it was
but a poor eight months since she had come to Offen-
dene, and some inclinations become manifest slowly,
like the sunward creeping of plants.

In face of this fact that not one of the eligible
young men already in the neighbourhood had made
Gwendolen an offer, why should Mr. Grandcourt
be thought of as likely to do what they had left
undone ?

Perhaps because he was thought of as still more

VOL. I. — 9

I30 DANIEL DERONDA.

eligible ; since a great deal of what passes for like-
lihood in the world is simply the reflex of a wisn.
Mr. and Mrs. Arrowpoint, for example, having no
anxiety that Miss Harleth should make a brilliant
marriage, had quite a different likelihood in their
minds.

CHAPTER X.

" 1st Gent. What woman should be? Sir, consult the taste
Of marriageable men. This planet's store
In iron, cotton, wool, or chemicals —
All matter rendered to our plastic skill,
Is wrought iu shapes responsive to demand :
The market's pulse makes index high or low,
By rule sublime. Our daughters must be wives.
And to be wives must be what men will choose :
Men's taste is women's test. You mark the phrase?
' T is good, I think ? — the sense well winged and poised
With t's and s's.
2cl Gent. Nay, but turn it round :

Give us the test of taste. A fine me7iu —
Is it to-day what Roman epicures
Insisted that a gentleman must eat
To earn the dignity of dining well 7 "

Bkackenshaw Park, where the Archery Meet-
ing was held, looked out from its gentle heights
far over the neighbouring valley to the outlying
eastern downs and the broad slow rise of culti-
vated country hanging like a vast curtain towards
the west. The castle, which stood on the highest
platform of the clustered hills, was built of rough -
hewn limestone, full of lights and shadows made by
the dark dust of lichens and the washings of the rain.
Masses of beech and fir sheltered it on the north,
and spread down here and there along the green
slopes like flocks seeking the water which gleamed
below. The archery-ground was a carefully kept
enclosure on a bit of table-land at the farthest end
of the park, protected towards the southwest by
tall elms and a thick screen of hollies, which kept

132 DANIEL DERONDA.

the gravel walk and the bit of newly mown turf
where the targets were placed in agreeable after-
noon shade. The Archery Hall with an arcade in
front showed like a white temple against the green-
ery on the northern side.

What could make a better background for tlie
flower-groups of ladies, moving and bowing and
turning their necks as it would become the leis-
urely lilies to do if they took to locomotion ? The
sounds too were very pleasant to hear, even when
the military band from Wanchester ceased to play ;
musical laughs in all the registers and a harmony
of happy friendly speeches, now rising towards mild
excitement, now sinking to an agreeable murmur.

No open-air amusement could be much freer from
those noisy, crowding conditions which spoil most
modern pleasures ; no Archery Meeting could be
more select, the number of friends accompanying
the members being restricted by an award of
tickets, so as to keep the maximum within the
limits of convenience for the dinner and ball to be
held in the castle. Within the enclosure no ple-
beian spectators were admitted except Lord Brack-
enshaw's tenants and their families ; and of these
it was chiefly the feminine members who used the
privilege, bringing their little boys and girls or
younger brothers and sisters. The males among
them relieved the insipidity of the entertainment
by imaginative betting, in which the stake was
" anything you like," on their favourite archers ;
but the young maidens, having a different principle
of discrimination, were considering which of those
sweetly dressed ladies they would choose to be, if
the choice were allowed them. Probably the form
these rural souls wnuld most have striven for as a

THE SPOILED CHILD. 133

tabernacle was some other than Gwendolen's, — one
with more pink in her cheeks and hair of the most
fashionable yellow ; but among the male judges in
the ranks immediately surrounding her there was
unusual unanimity in pronouncing her the finest
girl present.

No wonder she enjoyed her existence on that
July day. Pre-eminence is sweet to those who
love it, even under mediocre circumstances : per-
haps it is not quite mythical that a slave has been
])roud to be bought first; and probably a barn-door
fowl on sale, though he may not have understood
Iiimself to be called the best of a bad lot, may have
a self-informed consciousness of his relative impor-
tance, and strut consoled. But for complete enjoy-
ment the outward and the inward must concur;
and that concurrence was happening to Gwendolen.

Who can deny that bows and arrows are among
the prettiest weapons in the world for feminine
forms to play with ? They prompt attitudes full
of grace and power, where that fine concentration of
energy seen in all marksmanship is freed from asso-
ciations of bloodshed. The time-honoured British
resource of "killing something" is no longer carried
on with bow and quiver; bands defending their passes
against an invading nation fight under another sort
of shade than a cloud of arrows ; and poisoned darts
are harmless survivals either in rlietoric or in regions
comfortably remote. Archery has no ugly smell of
brimstone, breaks nobody's shins, breeds no athletic
monsters ; its only danger is that of failing, which
for generous blood is enough to mould skilful action.
And among the Brackenshaw archers the prizes were
all of the nobler symbolic kind : not property to be
carried off in a parcel, degrading honour into gain ;

134 DANIEL DERONDA.

but the gold arrow and the silver, the gold star and
the silver, to be worn for a time in sign of achieve-
ment and then transferred to the next who did ex-
cellently. These signs of pre-eminence had the
virtue of wreaths without their inconveniences,
which might liave produced a melancholy effect in
the heat of the ball-room. Altogether the Bracken-
shaw Archery Club was an institution framed with
good taste, so as not to have by necessity any ridicu-
lous incidents.

And to-day all incalculable elements were in its
favour. There was mild warmth, and no wind to
disturb either hair or drapery or the course of the
arrow ; all skilful preparation had fair play, and
when there was a general march to extract the arrows,
the promenade of joyous young creatures in light
speech and laughter, the graceful movement in com-
mon towards a common object, was a show worth
looking at. Here Gwendolen seemed a Calypso
among her nymphs. It was in her attitudes and
movements that every one was obliged to admit
her surpassing charm.

" That girl is like a high-mettled racer," said
Lord Brackenshaw to young Clintock, one of the
invited spectators.

" First chop ! tremendously pretty too," said the
elegant Grecian, who had been paying her assiduous
attention ; " I never saw her look better."

Perhaps she had never looked so well. Her face
was beaming with young pleasure in which there
were no malign rays of discontent ; for being satis-
fied with her own chances, she felt kindly towards
everybody, and was satisfied with the universe. Not
to have the highest distinction in rank, not to be
marked out as an heiress, like Miss Arrowpoint,

THE SPOILED CHILD. 135

gave an added triumph in eclipsing those advantages.
For personal recommendation she would not have
cared to change the family group accompanying her
for any other : her mamma's appearance would have ^
suited an amiable duchess ; her uncle and aunt
Gascoigne with Anna made equally gratifying
figures in their way ; and Gwendolen was too full
of joyous belief in herself to feel in the least jeal-
ous, though Miss Arrowpoiut was one of the best
archeresses.

Even the reappearance of the formidable Herr
Klesmer, which caused some surprise in the rest of
the company, seemed only to fall in with Gwendo-
len's inclination to be amused. Short of Apollo
himself, what great musical maestro could make a
good figure at an archery meeting ? There was a
very satirical light in Gwendolen's eyes as she
looked towards the Arrowpoint party on their first
entrance, when the contrast between Klesmer and
the average group of English country people seemed
at its utmost intensity in the close neighbourhood
of his hosts — or patrons, as Mrs. Arrowpoint would \
have liked to hear them called, that she might
deny the possibility of any longer patronizing
genius, its royalty being universally acknowledged.
The contrast might have amused a graver personage ;
than Gwendolen. We English are a miscellaneous
people, and any chance fifty of us will present
many varieties of animal architecture or facial orna-
ment ; but it must be admitted that our prevailing
expression is not that of a lively, impassioned race,
preoccupied with the ideal and carrying the real as
a mere make-weight. The strong point of the
English gentleman pure is the easy style of his
figure and clothing ; he objects to marked ins and

136 DANIEL DERONDA.

outs in his costume, and he also objects to looking
inspired.

Fancy an assemblage where the men had all that
ordinary stamp of the well-bred Englishman, watch-
ing the entrance of Herr Klesmer, — his mane of
hair floating backward in massive inconsistency with
the chimney-pot hat, which had the look of having
been put on for a joke above his pronounced but
well-modelled features and powerful clear-shaven
mouth and chin ; his tall thin figure clad in a way
which, not being strictly English, was all the worse
for its apparent emphasis of intention. Draped in
a loose garment with a Florentine berretta on his
head, he would have been fit to stand by the side of
Leonardo da Vinci ; but how when he presented
himself in trousers which were not what English
feeling demanded about the knees ? — and when the
fire that showed itself in his glances and the move-
ments of his head, as he looked round him with
curiosity, was turned into comedy by a hat which
ruled that mankind should have well-cropped hair
and a staid demeanour, — such, for example, as Mr.
Arrowpioint's, whose nullity of face and perfect
tailoring might pass everywhere without ridicule ?
One sees why it is often better for greatness to be
dead, and to have got rid of the outward man.

Many present knew Klesmer, or knew of him ;
but they had only seen him on candle-light occa-
sions when he appeared simply as a musician, and
he had not yet that supreme, world-wide celebrity
which makes an artist great to the most ordinary
people by their knowledge of his great expensive-
ness. It was literally a new light for them to see
him in, — presented unexpectedly on this July
afternoon in an exclusive society : some were inclined

THE SPOILED CHILD. 137

to laugh, others felt a little disgust at the want of
judgment shown by the Arrowpoints in this use of
an introductory card.

" What extreme guys those artistic fellows
usually are ! " said young Clintock to Gwendolen.
" Do look at the figure he cuts, bowing with his
hand on his heart to Lady Brackenshaw — and
Mrs. Arrowpoint's feather just reaching his
shoulder."

" You are one of the profane," said Gwendolen.
" You are blind to the majesty of genius. Herr
Klesmer smites me with awe ; I feel crushed in his
presence ; my courage all oozes from me."

"Ah, you understand all about his music."

" No, indeed," said Gwendolen, with a light
laugh ; " it is he who understands all about mine,
and thinks it pitiable." Klesmer's verdict on her
singing had been an easier joke to her since he had
been struck by her plastik.

" It is not addressed to the ears of the future, I
suppose. I 'm glad of that : it suits mine."

" Oh, you are very kind. But how remarkably
well Miss Arrowpoint looks to-day ! She would
make quite a fine picture in that gold-coloured
dress."

" Too splendid, don't you think ? "

" Well, perhaps a little too symbolical, — too
much like the figure of Wealth in an allegory."

This speech of Gwendolen's had rather a mali-
cious sound, but it was not really more than a
bubble of fun. She did not wish Miss Arrowpoint
or any one else to be out of the way, believing in
her own good fortune even more than in her skill.
The belief in both naturally grew stronger as the
shooting went on, for she promised to achieve one

138 DANIEL DERONDA.

of the best scores, — a success which astonished
every one in a new member; and to Gwendolen's
temperament one success determined another. She
trod on air, and all things pleasant seemed possible.
The hour was enough for her, and she was not
obliged to think wliat she should do next to keep
her life at the due pitch.

" How does the scoring stand, I wonder ? " said
Lady Brackenshaw, a gracious personage who,
adorned with two fair little girls and a boy of
stout make, sat as lady paramount. Her lord had
come up to her in one of the intervals of shooting.
" It seems to me that Miss Harleth is likely to win
the gold arrow."

" Gad, I think she will, if she carries it on ! she
is running Juliet Fenn hard. It is wonderful for
one in her first year. Catherine is not up to her
usual mark," continued his lordship, turning to the
heiress's mother, who sat near, "But she got the
gold arrow last time. And there 's a luck even in
these games of skill. That 's better. It gives the
hinder ones a chance."

" Catherine will be very glad for others to win,"
said Mrs. Arrowpoint, "she is so magnanimous It
was entirely her considerateness that made us
bring Herr Klesmer instead of Canon Stopley, who
had expressed a wish to come. For her own plea-
sure, I am sure she would rather have brought the
Canon ; but she is always thinking of others. I
tolil her it was not quite eit regie to bring one so far
out of our own set; but she said, 'Genius itself is
not en regie ; it comes into the world to make new
rulos.' And one must admit that."

" Ay, to be sure," said Lord Brackenshaw, in a
tone of careless dismissal, adding quickly, "For my

THE SPOILED CHILH 139

part, I am not magnanimous ; I should like to win.
But, confound it 1 I never have the chance now.
I 'm getting old and idle. The young ones beat
me. As old Nestor says — the gods don't give us
everything at one time : I was a young fellow once,
and now I am getting an old and wise one. Old,
at any rate ; which is a gift that comes to everybody
if they live long enough, so it raises no jealousy."
The Earl smiled comfortably at his wife.

" Oh, my lord, people who have been neighbours
twenty years must not talk to each otlier about
age," said Mrs. Arrowpoint. " Years, as the Tus-
cans say, are made for the letting of houses. But
where is our new neighbour ? I thought Mr,
Grandcourt was to be here to-day."

" Ah, by the way, so he was. The time 's getting
on too," said his lordship, looking at his watch.
" Bvit he only got to Diplow the other day. He
came to us on Tuesday, and said he had been a lit-
tle bothered. He may have been pulled in another
direction. Why, Gascoigne I " — the Rector was
just then crossing at a little distance with Gwen-
dolen on his arm, and turned in compliance with
the call, — " this is a little too bad ; you not only
beat us yourself, but you bring up your niece to
beat all the archeresses."

" It is rather scandalous in her to get the better
of elder members," said Mr. Gascoigne, with much
inward satisfaction curling his short upper lip.
" But it is not my doing, my lord. I only meant her
to make a tolerable figure, without surpassing any
one."

" It is not my fault, either," said Gwendolen, with
pretty archness. "If I am to aim, I can't help
hitting."

I40 DANIEL DERONDA.

" Ay, ay, that may be a fatal business for some
people," said Lord Brackenshaw, good-humouredly ;
then taking out his watch and looking at Mrs.
Arrowpoint again : " The time 's getting on, as you
sny. But Grandcourt is always late. I notice in
town he 's always late, and he 's no bowman, — un-
derstands nothing about it. But I told him he
must come ; he would see the flower of the neigh-
bourhood here. He asked about you, — had seen
Arrowpoint's card. I think you had not made his
acquaintance in town. He has been a good deal
abroad. People don't know him much."

" No ; we are strangers," said Mrs. Arrowpoint.
" But that is not what might have been expected.
For his uncle Sir Hugo Mallinger and I are great
friends when we meet."

" I don't know ; uncles and nephews are not so
likely to be seen together as uncles and nieces,"
said his lordship, smiling towards the Rector. " But
just come with me one instant, Gascoigne, will you ?
I want to speak a word about the clout-shooting."

Gwendolen chose to go too, and be deposited in
the same group with her mamma and aunt until
she had to shoot again. That Mr. Grandcourt might
after all not appear on the archery-ground, had be-
gun to enter into Gwendolen's thought as a possible
deduction from the completeness of her pleasure.
Under all her saucy satire, provoked chiefly by her
divination that her friends thought of him as a
desirable match for her, she felt something very far
from indifference as to the impression she would
/"make on him. True, he was not to have the slight-
/ est power over her (for Gwendolen had not consid-
j ered that the desire to con([uer is itself a sort of
subjection); she had made up her mind that he was

THE SPOILED CHILD. 141

to be one of those complimentary and assiduously-
admiring men of whom even her narrow experience
had shown her several with various-coloured beards
and various styles of bearing ; and the sense that
her friends would want her to think him delightful,
gave her a resistant inclination to presuppose him
ridiculous. But that was no reason why she could
spare his presence ; and even a passing prevision of
trouble in case she despised and refused him, raised
not the shadow of a wish that he should save her
that trouble by showing no disposition to make her an
offer. Mr. Grandcourt taking hardly any notice of her,
and becoming shortly engaged to Miss Arrowpoint,
was not a picture which flattered her imagination.

Hence Gwendolen had been all ear to Lord Brack-
enshaw's mode of accounting for Grandcourt's
non-appearance ; and when he did arrive, no con-
sciousness — not even Mrs. Arrowpoint's or Mr.
Gascoigne's — was more awake to the fact than hers,
although she steadily avoided looking towards any
point where he was likely to be. There should be
no slightest shifting of angles to betray that it was of
any consequence to her whether the much-talked-of
Mr. Mallinger Grandcourt presented himself or not.
She became again absorbed in the shooting, and so
resolutely abstained from looking round observantly
that, even supposing him to have taken a conspicu-
ous place among the spectators, it might be clear
she was not aware of him. And all the while the
certainty that he was there made a distinct thread
in her consciousness. Perhaps her shooting was the
better for it : at any rate, it gained in precision, and
she at last raised a delightful storm of clapping and
applause by three hits running in the gold, — a feat
which among the Brackenshaw archers had not the

142 DANIEL DERONDA.

vulgar reward of a shilling poll-tax, but that of a
special gold star to be worn on the breast. That
moment was not only a happy one to herself, — it
was just what her mamma and her uncle would
have chosen for her. There was a general falling
into ranks to give her space that she might advance
conspicuously to receive the gold star from the
hands of Lady Brackenshaw ; and the perfect move-
ment of her fine form was certainly a pleasant thing
to behold in the clear afternoon light, when the
shadows were long and still. She was the central
object of that pretty picture, and every one present
must gaze at her. That was enough : she herself
was determined to see nobody in particular, or to
turn her eyes any way except towards Lady Bracken-
shaw, but her thoughts undeniably turned in other
ways. It entered a little into her pleasure that
Herr Klesmer must be observing her at a moment
when music was out of the question, and his supe-
riority very far in the background ; for vanity is as
ill at ease under indifference as tenderness is under
a love which it cannot return ; and the unconquered
Klesmer threw a trace of his malign power even
across her pleasant consciousness that Mr. Grand-
court was seeing her to the utmost advantage, and
was probably giving her an admiration unmixed
with criticism. She did not expect to admire him,
but that was not necessary to her peace of mind.

Gwendolen met Lady Brackenshaw's gracious
smile without blushing (which only came to her
when she was taken by surprise), but with a charm-
ing gladness of expression, and then bent with easy
grace to have the star fixed near her shoulder.
That little ceremony had been over long enough
for her to have exchanged playful speeches and

THE SrOILED CHILD. 143

received coiigratulatious as she moved among the
groups who were now interesting themselves in the
results of the scoring; but it happened that she
stood outside examining the point of an arrow with
rather an absent air when Lord Brackenshaw came
up to her and said, —

'■ Miss Harleth, here is a gentleman who is not
willing to wait any longer for an introduction. He
has been getting Mrs. Davilow to send me with
him. Will you allow me to introduce Mr. Mallinger
Grandcourt ? "

BOOK 11.

MEETING STEEAMS.

CHAPTER XL

" The beginning of an acquaintance whether with persons or
tilings is to get a definite outline for our ignorance."

Mr. Grandcourt's wish to be introduced had no
suddenness for Gwendolen ; but when Lord Bracken-
shaw movied aside a little for the prefigured stranger
to come forward, and she felt herself face to face
with the real man, there was a little shock which
flushed her cheeks and vexatiously deepened with
her consciousness of it. The shock came from the
reversal of her expectations : Grandcourt could
hardly have been more unlike all her imaginary
portraits of him. He was slightly taller than her-
self, and their eyes seemed to be on a level ; there
was not the faintest smile on his face as he looked
at her, not a trace of self-consciousness or anxiety
in his bearing ; when he raised his hat he showed
a n extensive baldness surrounded with a mere fringe
of reddish-blond hair, but he also showed a perfect
hand ; the line of feature from brow to chin undis-
guised by beard was decidedly handsome, with only
moderate departures from the perpendicular, and
the slight whisker too was perpendicular. It was
not possible for a human aspect to be freer from
grimace or solicitous wrigglings ; also it was per-

Gbandcourx and Gwendolen at the Arcuery Tournament.

MEETING STREAMS. 145

haps not possible for a breathing man wide awake
to look less animated. The correct Englishman,
drawing himself up from his bow into rigidity, as-
senting severely, and seeming to be in a state of
internal drill, suggests a suppressed vivacity, and
may be suspected of letting go with some violence
when he is released from parade ; but Grandcourt's
bearing had no rigidity, it inclined rather to be flac-
cid. His complexion had a faded fairness resem-
bling that of an actress when bare of the artificial
white and red ; his long narrow gray eyes expressed
nothing but indifference. Attempts at description
are stupid : who can all at once describe a human
being ? even when he is presented to us we only
begin that knowledge of his appearance which must
be completed by innumerable impressions under
differing circumstances. We recognize the alpha-
bet ; we are not sure of the language. I am only
mentioning the points that Gwendolen saw by the
light of a prepared contrast in the first minutes of
her meeting with Grandcourt : they were summed
up in the words, " He is not ridiculous." But forth-
with Lord Brackenshaw was gone, and what is
called conversation had begun, the first and con-
stant element in it being that Grandcourt looked
at Gwendolen persistently with a slightly exploring
gaze, but without change of expression, while she
only occasionally looked at him with a flash of ob-
servation a little softened by coquetry. Also, after
her answers there was a longer or shorter pause
before he spoke again.

"I used to think archery was a great bore," Grand-
court began. He spoke with a fine accent, but with
a certain broken drawl, as of a distinguished person-
age with a distinguished cold on his chest.

VOL. I. — 10

146 DANIEL DERONDA.

" Are you converted to-day ? " said Gwendolen.

(Pause, during which she imagined various
degrees and modes of opinion about herself that
might be entertained by Grandcourt.)

" Yes, since I saw you sliooting. In things of
this sort one generally sees people missing and
simpering."

" I suppose you are a first-rate shot with a rifle."

(Pause, during which Gwendolen, having taken
a rapid observation of Grandcourt, made a brief
graphic description of him to an indefinite hearer.)

" I have left off shooting."

" Oh, then, you are a formidable person. People
who have done things once and left them off make
one feel very contemptible, as if one were using cast-
off fashions. I hope you have not left off all follies,
because I practise a great many."

(Pause, during which Gwendolen made several
interpretations of her own speech.)

" What do you call follies ? "

" Well, in general, I think whatever is agreeable
is called a folly. But you have not left off hunting,
I hear."

(Pause, wherein Gwendolen recalled what she had
heard about Grandcourt's position, and decided that
he was the most aristocratic-looking man she had
ever seen.)

" One must do something."
" "And do you care about the turf — or is that
among the things you have left off?"

(Pause, during which Gwendolen thought that a
man of extremely calm, cold manners might be less
disagreeable as a husband than other men, and not
likely to interfere with his wife's preferences.)

" I run a horse now and then ; but I don't go in

MEETING STREAMS, 147

for the thing as some men do. Are you fond of
horses ? "

" Yes, indeed : I never like my life so well as
when I am on horseback, having a great gallop. I
think of nothing. I only feel myself strong and
happy."

(Pause, wherein Gwendolen wondered whether
Grandcourt would like what she said, but assured
herself that she was not going to disguise her
tastes.)

" Do you like danger ? "

" I don't know* When T am on horseback I
never think of danger. It seems to me that if I
broke my bones I should not feel it. I should go
at anything that came in my way."

(Pause, during which Gwendolen had run through
a whole hunting-season with two chosen hunters to
ride at will.)

" You would, perhaps, like tiger-hunting or pig-
sticking. I saw some of that for a season or two
in the East. Everything here is poor stuff after
that."

" You are fond of danger, then ? "

(Pause, wherein Gwendolen speculated on the
probability that the men of coldest manners were
the most adventurous, and felt the strength of her
own insight, supposing the question had to be
decided.)

" One must have something or other. But one
gets used to it."

" I begin to think I am very fortunate, because
everything is new to me : it is only that I can't
get enough of it. I am not used to anything
except being dull, which I should like to leave
ofi' as you have left off shooting."

148 DANIEL DETIONDA.

(Pause, during which it occurred to Gwendolen
that a man of cold and distinguished manners
might possibly be a dull companion ; but on the
other hand, she thought that most persons were
dull, that she had not observed husbands to be
companions, and that after all she was not going
to accept Grandcourt.)

"Why are you dull ?"

" This is a dreadful neighbourhood. There is
nothing to be done in it. That is why I practised
my archery."

(Pause, during which Gwendolen reflected that
the life of an unmarried woman who could not go
about and had no command of anything, must
necessarily be dull through all the degrees of com-
parison as time went on.)

" You have made yourself queen of it. I imagine
you will carry the first prize."

" I don't know that. I have great rivals. Did
you not observe how well Miss Arrowpoint shot ? "

(Pause, wherein Gwendolen was thinking that
men had been known to choose some one else
than the woman they most admired, and recalled
several experiences of that kind in novels.)

" Miss Arrowpoint ? No — that is, yes."

" Shall we go now and hear what the scoring
says ? Every one is going to the other end now ;
shall we join them ? I think my uncle is looking
towards me. He perhaps wants me."

Gwendolen found a relief for herself by thus
changing the situation : not that the tete-a-tete was
quite disagreeable to her; but while it lasted she
apparently could not get rid of the unwonted ilush
in her cheeks and the sense of surprise which made
her feel less mistress of herself than usual. And

MEETING STREAMS. 14^

this Mr. Grandcourt, who seemed to feel his own
importance more than he did hers, — a sort of
unreasonableness few of us can tolerate, — must
not take for granted that he was of great moment
to her, or that because others speculated on him as
a desirable match she held herself altogether at
his beck. How Grandcourt had filled up the
pauses will be more evident hereafter.

" You have just missed the gold arrow, Gwendo-
len," said Mr. Gascoigne. " Miss Juliet Fenn scores
eight above you."

" I am very glad to hear it. I should have felt
that I was making myself too disagreeable, — taking
the best of everything," said Gwendolen, quite
easily.

It was impossible to be jealous of Juliet Fenn, a
girl as middling as midday market in everything
but her archery and her plainness, in which last she
was noticeably like her father : underhung and with
receding brow resembling that of the more intelli-
gent fishes. (Surely, considering the importance
which is given to such an accident in female off-
spring, marriageable men, or what the new English
calls " intending bridegrooms," should look at them-
selves dispassionately in the glass, since their
natural selection of a mate prettier than them-
selves is not certain to bar the effect of their own
ugliness. )

There was now a lively movement in the mingling
groups, wliich carried the talk along with it. Every
one spoke to every one else by turns ; and Gwendo-
len, who chose to see what was going on around her
now, observed that Grandcourt was having Klesmer
presented to him by some one unknown to her, —
a middle-acred man with dark full face and fat

ijo DANIEL DERONDA.

hands, who seemed to be on the easiest terms with
both, and presently led the way in joining the
Arrowpoints, whose acquaintance had already been
made by both him and Graudcourt. Who this
stranger was she did not care much to know ; but
she wished to observe what was Grandcourt's man-
ner towards others than herself. Precisely the
same : except that he did not look much at Miss
Arrowpoint, but rather at Klesmer, who was speak-
ing with animation, — now stretching out his long
fingers horizontally, now pointing downwards with
his forefinger, now folding his arms and tossing his
mane, while he addressed himself first to one and
then the other, including Grandcourt, who listened
with an impassive face and narrow eyes, his left
forefinger in his waistcoat pocket, and his right
slightly touching his thin whisker.

" I wonder which style Miss Arrowpoint admires
most, " was a thought that glanced through Gwen-
dolen's mind while her eyes and lips gathered
rather a mocking expression. But she would not
indulge her sense of amusement by watching as if
she were curious, and she gave all her animation
to those immediately around her, determined not
to care whether Mr. Grandcourt came near her
again or not.

He did come, however, and at a moment when
he could propose to conduct Mrs. Davilow to her
carriage. " Shall we meet again in the ballroom ? "
she said, as he raised his hat at parting. The
" yes " in reply had the usual slight drawl and
perfect gravity.

" You were wrong for once, Gwendolen, " said
Mrs. Davilow, during their few minutes' drive to
the castle.

MEETING STREAMS. 151

" In what, mamma ? "

" About Mr. Grandcourt's appearance and man-
ners. You can't find anything ridiculous in him. "

" I suppose I could if I tried, but I don't want
to do it," said Gwendolen, rather pettishly; and
her mamma was afraid to say more.

It was the rule on these occasions for the ladies
and gentlemen to dine apart, so that the dinner
might make a time of comparative ease and rest for
both. Indeed the gentlemen had a set of archery
stories about the epicurism of the ladies, who had
somehow been reported to show a revolting mascu-
line judgment in venison, even asking for the fat,
— a proof of the frightful rate at which corruption
might go on in women, but for severe social re-
straint. And every year the amiable Lord Bracken-
shaw, who was something of a gourmet, mentioned
Byron's opinion that a woman should never be
seen eating, — introducing it with a confidential
" The fact is " — as if he were for the first time
admitting his concurrence in that sentiment of the
refined poet. v.^

In the ladies' dining-room it was evident that^j
Gwendolen was not a general favourite with her |
own sex; there were no beginnings of intimacy}
between her and other girls, and in conversation I
they rather noticed what she said than spoke to
her in free exchange. Perhaps it was that she was
not much interested in them, and when left alone
in their company had a sense of empty benches.
Mrs. Vulcany once remarked that Miss Harleth
was too fond of the gentlemen ; but we know that
she was not in the least fond of them, — she was
only fond of their homage, and women did not
give her homage. The exception to this willing 1

152 DANIEL DERONDA.

aloofness from her was Miss Arrowpoiut, who often
managed unostentatiously to be by her side, and
talked to her with quiet friendliness,

" She knows, as I do, that our friends are ready
to quarrel over a husband for us, " thought Gwen-
dolen, " and she is determined not to enter into
the quarrel. "

" I think Miss Arrowpoiut has the best manners
I ever saw, " said Mrs. Davilow, when she and
Gwendolen were in a dressing-room with Mrs.
Gascoigne and Anna, but at a distance where they
could have their talk apart.

" I wish I were like her, " said Gwendolen.

" Why ? Are you getting discontented with
yourself, Gwen ? "

" No ; but I am discontented with things. She
seems contented. "

" I am sure you ought to be satisfied to-day. You
must have enjoyed the shooting. I saw you did. "

" Oh, that is over now, and I don't know what
will come next, " said Gwendolen, stretching her-
self with a sort of moan and throwing up her arms.
They were bare now : it was the fashion to dance
in the archery dress, throwing off' the jacket ; and
the simplicity of her white cashmere with its bor-
der of pale green set oft' her form to the utmost.
A thin line of gold round her neck, and the gold
star on her breast, were her only ornaments. Her
smooth soft hair piled up into a grand crown made
a clear line about her brow. Sir Joshua would
have been glad to take her portrait ; and he would
have had an easier task than the historian at least
in this, that he would not have had to represent
the truth of change, — only to give stability to one
beautiful moment.

MEETING STREAMS. 153

" The dancing will come next, " said Mrs. Davi-
low. " You are sure to enjoy that. "

" I shall only dance in the quadrille. I told Mr.
Clintock so. I shall not waltz or* polk with any
one. "

" Why in the world do you say that all on a
sudden ? "

" I can't bear having ugly people so near me. "

" Whom do 3'ou mean by ugly people ? "

" Oh, plenty. "

" Mr. Clintock, for example, is not ugly. " Mrs.
Davilow dared not mention Grandcourt.

" Well, I hate woollen cloth touching me. "

" Fancy ! " said Mrs. Davilow to her sister, who
now came up from the other end of the room.
" Gwendolen says she will not waltz or polk. "

" She is rather given to whims, I think, " said
Mrs. Gascoigne, gravely. " It would be more be-
coming in her to behave as other young ladies do
on such an occasion as this, especially when she has
had the advantage of first-rate dancing-lessons. "

"Why should I waltz if I don't like it, aunt?
It is not in the Catechism. "

" My dear ! " said Mrs. Gascoigne, in a tone of
severe check ; and Anna looked frightened at Gwen-
dolen's daring. But they all passed on without
saying more.

Apparently something had changed Gwendolen's
mood since the hour of exulting enjoyment in the
archery -ground. But she did not look the worse
under the chandeliers in the ball-room, where the
soft splendour of the scene and the pleasant odours
from the conservatory could not but be soothing to
the temper, when accompanied with the conscious-
ness of being pre-ernineutly sought for. Hardly a

154 DANIEL DERONDA.

dancing man but was anxious to have her for a
partner, and each whom she accepted was in a
state of melancholy remonstrance that she would
not waltz or polk.

" Are you under a vow, Miss Harleth ? " —
" Why are you so cruel to us all ? " — " You waltzed
with me in February. " — " And you who waltz
so perfectly I " were exclamations not without pi-
quancy for her. The ladies who waltzed, naturally
thought that Miss Harleth only wanted to make
herself particular ; but her uncle when he over-
heard her refusal supported her by saying, —

" Gwendolen has usually good reasons. " He
thought she was certainly more distinguished in
not waltzing, and he wished her to be distin-
guished. The archery-ball was intended to be
kept at the subdued pitch that suited all dignities,
clerical and secular ; it was not an escapement for
youthful high spirits, and he himself was of opin-
ion that the fashionable dances were too much of
a romp.

Among the remonstrant dancing men, however,
Mr. Grandcourt was not numbered. After stand-
ing up for a quadrille with Miss Arrowpoint, it
seemed that he meant to ask for no other partner.
Gwendolen observed him frequently with the
Arrowpoints, but he never took an opportunity of
approaching her. Mr. Gascoigne was sometimes
speaking to him ; but Mr. Gascoigne was every-
where. It was in her mind now that she would
probably after all not have the least trouble about
him : perhaps he had looked at her without any
particular admiration, and was too much used to
everything in the world to think of her as more
than one of the girls who were invited in that part

MEETING STREAMS. 155

of the country. Of course ! It was ridiculous of
elders to entertain notions about wliat a man
would do, without having seen him even through
a telescope. Probably he meant to marry Miss
Arrowpoint. Whatever might come, she, Gwen-
dolen, was not going to be disappointed : the affair
v,as a joke whichever way it turned, for she had
never committed herself even by a silent confidence
in anything Mr. Grandcourt would do. Still, she
noticed that he did sometimes quietly and gradu-
ally change his position according to hers, so that
he could see her whenever she was dancing, and if
he did not admire her — so much the worse for
him.

This movement for the sake of being in sight of
her was more direct than usual rather late in the
evening, when Gwendolen had accepted Klesmer
as a partner ; and that wide-glancing personage,
who saw everything and nothing by turns, said to
her when they were walking, " Mr. Grandcourt is
a man of taste. He likes to see you dancing. "

" Perhaps he likes to look at what is against his
taste, " said Gwendolen, with a light laugh : she
was quite courageous with Klesmer now. " He
may be so tired of admiring that he likes disgust
for a variety. "

" Those words are not suitable to your lips, "
said Klesmer, quickly, with one of his grand
frowns, while he shook his hand as if to banish
the discordant sounds.

" Are you as critical of words as of music ? "

" Certainly I am. I should require your words
to be what your face and form are, — always among
the meanings of a noble music. "

" That is a compliment as well as a correction.

156 DANIEL DERONDA.

I am obliged for both. But do you know I am
bold enough to wish to correct you, and require
you to understand a joke ? "

" One may understand jokes without liking
them, " said the terrible Klesmer " I have had
opera books sent me full of jokes ; it was just be-
cause I understood them that I did not like them.
The comic people are ready to challenge a man
because he looks grave. ' You don't see the wit-
ticism, sir ? ' ' No, sir, but I see what you meant. '
Then I am what we call ticketed as a fellow with-
out esprit. But, in fact, " said Klesmer, suddenly
dropping from his quick narrative to a reflective
tone, with an impressive frown, " I am very sensi-
ble to wit and humour. "

" I am glad you tell me that, " said Gwen-
dolen, not without some wickedness of intention.
But Klesmer's thoughts had flown off on the wings
of his own statement, as their habit was, and she
had the wickedness all to herself. " Pray, who is
that standing near the card-room door ? " she went
on, seeing there the same stranger with whom
Klesmer had been in animated talk on the archery-
ground. " He is a friend of yours, I think. "

" No, no ; an amateur I have seen in town :
Lush, a Me Lush, — too fond of Meyerbeer and
Scribe, — too fond of the mechanical-dramatic. "

" Thanks. 1 wanted to know whether you
thought his face and form required that his words
should be among the meanings of noble music ? "
Klesmer was conquered, and flashed at her a de-
lightful smile which made them quite friendly
until she begged to be deposited by the side of her
mamma.

Three minutes afterwards her preparations for

MEETING STREAMS. 157

Grandcourt's indifference were all cancelled. Turn-
ing her head after some remark to her mother, she
found that he had made his way up to her.

" May I ask if you are tired of dancing, Miss
Harleth ? " he began, looking down with his for-
mer unperturbed expression.

" Not in the least. "

" Will you do me the honour — the next — or
another quadrille ? "

" I should have been very happy, " said Gwen-
dolen, looking at her card, " but I am engaged for
the next to Mr. Clintock — ■ and indeed I perceive
that I am doomed for every quadrille : I have not
one to dispose of. " She was not sorry to punish
Mr. Grandcourt's tardiness, yet at the same time
she would have liked to dance with him. She
gave him a charming smile as she looked up to
deliver her answer, and he stood still looking down
at her with no smile at all.

" I am unfortunate in being too late, " he said,
after a moment's pause.

" It seemed to me that you did not care for dan-
cing, " said Gwendolen. " I thought it might be
one of the things you had left off. "

" Yes ; but I have not begun to dance with you, "
said Grandcourt. Always there was the same
pause before he took up his cue. " You make
dancing a new thing, as you make archery, "

" Is novelty always agreeable ? "

" No, no, — ■ not always. "

" Then I don't know whether to feel flattered or
not. When you had once danced with me, there
would be no more novelty in it. "

" On the contrary, there would probably be much
more. "

158 DANIEL DERONDA.

" That is deep. I don't understand. "

" Is it difficult to make Miss Harleth understand
her power ? " Here Grandcourt had turned to Mrs.
Davilow, who, smiling gently at her daughter,
said, — •

" I think she does not generally strike people as
slow to understand. "

" Mamma, " said Gwendolen, in a deprecating
tone, " I am adorably stupid, and want every-
thing explained to me — when the meaning is
pleasant. "

" If you are stupid, I admit that stupidity is
adorable, " returned Grandcourt, after the usual
pause, and without change of tone. But clearly
he knew what to say.

" I begin to think that my cavalier has forgotten
me, " Gwendolen observed after a little while. " I
see the quadrille is being formed. "

" He deserves to be renounced, " said Grandcourt.

" I think he is very pardonable, " said Gwendolen.

" There must have been some misunderstand-
ing, " said Mrs. Davilow. " Mr. Clintock was too
anxious about the engagement to have forgotten
it."

But now Lady Brackenshaw came up and said,
" Miss Harleth, Mr. Clintock has charged me to
express to you his deep regret that he was obliged
to leave without having the pleasure of dancing
with you again. An express came from his father
the archdeacon, — something important; he was
obliged to go. He was au desespoir. "

" Oh, he was very good to remember the engage-
ment under the circumstances, " said Gwendolen.
" I am sorry he was called away. " It was easy to
be politely sorrowful on so felicitous an occasion.

MEETING STREAMS. 159

" Then I can profit by Mr. Clintock's misfor-
tune ? " said Grandcourt. " May I hope that you
will let me take his place ? "

" I shall be very happy to dance the next quad-
rille with you. "

The appropriateness of the event seemed an
augury ; and as Gwendolen stood up for the quad-
rille with Grandcourt, there was a revival in her
of the exultation, the sense of carrying every-
thing before her, which she had felt earlier in the
day. No man could have walked through the
quadrille with more irreproachable ease than
Grandcourt ; and the absence of all eagerness in
his attention to her suited his partner's taste.
She was now convinced that he meant to distin-
guish her, to mark his admiration of her in a
noticeable way ; and it began to appear probable
that she would have it in her power to reject him,
whence there was a pleasure in reckoning up the
advantages which would make her rejection splen-
did, and in giving Mr. Grandcourt his utmost
value. It was also agreeable to divine that his
exclusive selection of her to dance with, from
among all the unmarried ladies present, would
attract observation ; though she studiously avoided
seeing this, and at the end of the quadrille walked
away on Grandcourt's arm as if she had been one
of the shortest-sighted instead of the longest and
widest sighted of mortals. They encountered Miss
Arrowpoint, who was standing with Lady Brack-
enshaw and a group of gentlemen. The heiress
looked at Gwendolen invitingly and said, " I hope
you will vote with us, Miss Harleth, and Mr,
Grandcourt too, though he is not an archer. "
Gwendolen and Grandcourt paused to join the

i6o DANIEL DERONDA.

group, and found that the voting turned on the
project of a picnic archery meeting to be held in
Cardell Chase, where the evening entertainment
would be more poetic than a ball under chande-
liers, — a feast of sunset lights along the glades and
through the branches and over the solemn tree-
tops.

Gwendolen thought the scheme delightful, —
equal to playing Kobin Hood and Maid Marian ;
and Mr. Grandcourt, when appealed to a second
time, said it was a thing to be done ; whereupon
Mr. Lush, who stood behind Lady Brackenshaw's
elbow, drew Gwendolen's notice by saying, with a
familiar look and tone to Grandcourt, " Diplow
would be a good place for the meeting, and more
convenient: there's a fine bit between the oaks
towards the north gate. "

Impossible to look more unconscious of being
addressed than Grandcourt ; but Gwendolen took a
new survey of the speaker, deciding, first, that he
must be on terms of intimacy with the tenant of
Diplow, and secondly, that she would never, if
she could help it, let him come within a yard of
her. She was subject to physical antipathies ; and
Mr. Lush's prominent eyes, fat though not clumsy
figure, and strong black gray-besprinkled hair of
frizzy thickness, which, with the rest of his pros-
perous person, was enviable to many, created one
of the strongest of her antipathies. To be safe
from his looking at her, she murmured to Grand-
court, " I should like to continue walking. "

He obeyed immediately ; but when they were
thus away from any audience, he spoke no word
for several minutes, and she, out of a half-amused,
half-serious inclination for experiment, would not

MEETING STREAMS. i6i

speak first. They turned into the large conserva-
tory, beautifully lit up with Chinese lamps. The
other couples there were at a distance which would
not have interfered with any dialogue, but still
they walked in silence until they had reached the
farther end, where there was a flush of pink light,
and the second wide opening into the ball-room.
Grandcourt, when they had half turned round,
paused and said languidly, — •

" Do you like this kind of thing ? "

If the situation had been described to Gwendo-
len half an hour before, she would have laughed
heartily at it, and could only have imagined her-
self returning a playful, satirical answer. But for
some mysterious reason — it was a mystery of
which she had a faint wondering consciousness —
she dared not be satirical : she had begun to feel a
wand over her that made her afraid of offending
Grandcourt.

"Yes," she said quietly, without considering
what " kind of thing " was meant, — whether the
flowers, the scents, the ball in general, or this
episode of walking with Mr. Grandcourt in par-
ticular. And they returned along the conservatory
without farther interpretation. She then proposed
to go and sit down in her old place, and they
walked among scattered couples preparing for the
waltz to the spot where Mrs. Davilow had been
seated all the evening. As they approached it, her
seat was vacant, but she was coming towards it
again, and, to Gwendolen's shuddering annoyance,
with Mr. Lush at her elbow. There was no avoid-
ing the confrontation : her mamma came close to
her before they had reached the seats, and, after a
quiet greeting smile, said innocently, " Gwendolen

VOL. I. — U

1 62 DANIEL DERONDA.

dear, let me present Mr. Lush to you. " Having
just made the acquaintance of this personage, as
an intimate and constant companion of Mr. Grand-
court's, Mrs. Davilow imagined it altogether de-
sirable that her daughter also should make the
acquaintance.

It was hardly a bow that Gwendolen gave, —
rather, it was the slightest forward sweep of the
head away from the physiognomy that inclined
itself towards her, and she immediately moved
towards her seat, saying, " I want to put on my
burnous. " No sooner had she reached it, than Mr.
Lush was there, and had the burnous in his hand :
to annoy this supercilious young lady, he would
incur the offence of forestalling Grandcourt; and,
holding up the garment close to Gwendolen, he
said, " Pray, permit me ? " But she, wheeling
away from him as if he had been a muddy hound,
glided on to the ottoman, saying, " No, thank
you. "

A man who forgave this would have much Chris-
tian feeling, supposing he had intended to be
agreeable to the young lady ; but before he seized
the burnous Mr. Lush had ceased to have that
intention. Grandcourt quietly took the drapery
from him ; and Mr. Lush, with a slight bow, moved
away.

" You had perhaps better put it on, " said Mr.
Grandcourt, looking down on her without change
of expression.

" Thanks ; perhaps it would be wise, " said Gwen-
dolen, rising and submitting very gracefully to
take the burnous on her shoulders.

After that, Mr. Grandcourt exchanged a few
polite speeches with Mrs. Davilow, and, in taking

MEETING STREAMS. 163

leave, asked permission to call at Offendene the
next day. He was evidently not offended by the
insult directed towards his friend. Certainly,
Gwendbtea's refusal of the" burnous from Mr. Lush
was open to the interpretation that she wished to
receive it from Mr. Grandcourt. But she, poor
child, had had no desigi]:..on this action, and was
^niply. iollowing her antipathy and inclination,
confiding in them as she did in the more reflective
judgments into which they entered as sap into
leafage. Gwendolen had no sense that these men
were dark enigmas to her, or that she needed any
help in drawing conclusions about them, — Mr.
Grandcourt at least. The chief question was, how
far his character and ways might answer her
wishes ; and unless she were satisfied about that,
she had said to herself that she would not accept
his offer.

Could there be a slenderer, more insignificant
thread in human history than this consciousness
of a girl, busy with her small inferences of the
way in which she could make her life pleasant ? — ■
in a time, too, when ideas were with fresh vigour
making armies of themselves, and the universal
kinship was declaring itself fiercely ; when women
on the other side of the world would not mourn
for the husbands and sons who died bravely in a
common cause, and men stinted of bread on our
side of the world heard of that willing loss and
were patient: a time when the soul of man was
waking to pulses which had for centuries been
beating in liim unfelt, until their full sum made a
new life of terror or of joy.

t64 DANIEL BERONDA.

! What in the midst of that mighty drama are

/girls and their blind visions? They are the Yea

; or Nay of that good for which men are enduring

/ and fighting. In these delicate vessels is borne

.' onward through the ages the treasure of human

. affections.

CHAPTEE XII.

O gentlemen, the time of life is short :

To spend that shortness basely were too long,

K life did ride upon a dial's point.

Still ending at the arrival of an hour.

Shakespeare : Henry IV.

On the second day after the Archery Meeting, Mr.
Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt was at his break-
fast-table with Mr. Lush. Everything around
them was agreeable : the summer air through the
open windows, at which the dogs could walk in
from the old green turf on the lawn ; the soft,
purplish colouring of the park beyond, stretching
towards a mass of bordering wood ; the still life in
the room, which seemed the stiller for its sober
antiquated elegance, as if it kept a conscious,
well-bred silence unlike the restlessness of vulgar
furniture.

Whether the gentlemen were agreeable to each
other was less evident. Mr. Grandcourt had
drawn his chair aside so as to face the lawn, and,
with his left leg over another chair, and his right
elbow on the table, was smoking a large cigar,
while his companion was still eating. The dogs
— half-a-dozen of various kinds were moving lazily
in and out, or taking attitudes of brief attention — ■
gave a vacillating preference first to one gentle-
man, then to the other; being dogs in such good
circumstances that they could play at hunger, and
liked to be served with delicacies which they de-
clined to put into their mouths ; all except Fetch,

t66 DANIEL DERONDA.

the beautiful liver-coloured water-spaniel, which
sat with its fore-paws firmly planted and its
expressive brown face turned upward, watching
Grandcourt with unshaken constancy. He held in
his lap a tiny Maltese dog with a tiny silver collar
and bell, and when he had a hand unused by cigar
or coffee-cup, it rested on this small parcel of ani-
mal warmth. I fear that Fetch was jealous, and
wounded that her master gave her no word or look ;
at last it seemed that she could bear this neglect
no longer, and she gently put her large silky paw
on her master's leg. Grandcourt looked at her
with unchanged face for half a minute, and then
took the trouble to lay down his cigar while he
lifted the unimpassioned Fluff close to his chin
and gave it caressing pats, all the while gravely
watching Fetch, who, poor thing, whimpered in-
terruptedly, as if trying to repress that sign of
discontent, and at last rested her head beside the
appealing paw, looking up with piteous beseech-
ing. So, at least, a lover of dogs must have inter-
preted Fetch, and Grandcourt kept so many dogs
that he was reputed to love them ; at any rate, his
impulse to act just in this way started from such
an interpretation. But when the amusing anguish
liurst forth in a howling bark, Grandcourt pushed
Fetch down without speaking, and, depositing
Fluff carelessly on the table (where his black nose
predominated over a salt-cellar), began to look to
his cigar, and found, with some annoyance against
Fetch as the cause, that the brute of a cigar re-
quired relighting. Fetch, having begun to wail,
found, like others of her sex, that it was not easy
to leave off; indeed, the second howl was a louder
one, and the third was like unto it.

MEETING STREAMS. 167

" Turn out that brute, will you ? " said Grand-
court to Lush, without raising his voice or lookin<'
at him, — as if he counted on attention to the
smallest sign.

And Lush immediately rose, lifted Fetch, though
she was rftther heavy and he was not fond of stoop-
ing, and carried her out, disposing of her in some
way that took liim a couple of minutes before he
returned. He then lit a cigar, placed himself at
an angle where he could see Grandcourt's face
without turning, and presently said, —

" Shall you ride or drive to Quetcham to-day ? "

" I am not going to Quetcham. "

" You did not go yesterday. "

Grandcourt smoked in silence for half a minute,
and then said, —

" I suppose you sent my card and inquiries. "

" I went myself at four, and said you were sure
to be there shortly. They would suppose some
accident prevented you from fulfilling the inten-
tion. Especially if you go to-day. "

Silence for a couple of minutes Then Grand-
court said, " What men are invited here with their
wives ? "

Lush drew out a note-book. " The Captain and
Mrs. Torrington come next week. Then there are
Mr. Hollis and Lady Flora, and the Cushats, and
the Gogoffs."

" Eather a ragged lot, " remarked Grandcourt,
after a while. " Why did you ask the Gogoffs ?
When you write invitations in my name, be good
enough to give me a list, instead of bringing down
a giantess on me without my knowledge. She
spoils the look of the room. "

i68 DANIEL DERONDA.

" You invited the Gogoffs yourself, when you
met tliem in Paris. "

" What has my meeting them in Paris to do with
it ? I told you to give me a list. "

Grandoourt, like many others, had two remark-
ably different voices Hitherto we have heard
liim speaking in a superficial interrupted drawl
suggestive chiefly of languor and ennui. But this
last brief speech was uttered in subdued, inward,
yet distinct tones, which Lush had long been used
to recognize as the expression of a peremptory
will.

" Are there any other couples you would like to
invite ? "

" Yes ; think of some decent people, with a
daughter or two. And one of your damned musi-
cians. But not a comic fellow. "

" I wonder if Klesmer would consent to come to
us when he leaves Quetcham. Nothing but first-
rate music will go down with Miss Arrowpoint. "

"■Lush spoke carelessly, but he was really seizing
an opportunity and fixing an observant look on
Grandcourt, who now for the first time turned his
eyes towards his companion, but slowly and with-
out speaking until he had given two long luxurious
puffs, when he said, perhaps in a lower tone than
ever, but with a perceptible edge of contempt, —

" What in the name of nonsense have I to do
with Miss Arrowpoint and her music ? "

" Well, something, " said Lush, jocosely. " You
need not give yourself much trouble, perhaps. But
some forms must be gone through before a man can
marry a million. "

" Very likely. But I am not going to marry a
million. "

MEETING STREAMS. 169

" That 's a pity, — to fling away an opportunity
of this sort, and knock down your own plans. " ,
" Yo^l-r plans, I suppose you mean. " '

" You have some debts, you know, and things
may turn out inconveniently after all. The heir-
ship is not ahsoiately certaia "

Grandcourt did not answer, and Lush went on.

" It really is a fine opportunity. The father and
mother ask for nothing better, I can see, and the
daughter's looks and manners require no allow-
ances, any more than if she hadn't a sixpence
She is not beautiful, but equal to carrying any
rank. And she is not likely to refuse such pros-
pects as you can offer her. "

" Perhaps not. "

" The father and mother would let you do any-
thing you liked with them. "

" But I should not like to do anything with
them. "

Here it was Lush who made a little pause before
speaking again, and then he said in a deep voice
of remonstrance, " Good God, Grandcourt ! after
your experience, will you let a whim interfere with
your comfortable settlement in life ? "

" Spare your oratory. I know what I am going
to do. "

" What ? " Lush put down his cigar and thrust
his hands into his side pockets, as if he had to
face something exasperating, but meant to keep
his temper.

" I am going to marry the other girl. "

" Have you fallen in love ? " This question
carried a strong sneer.

" I am going to marry her. "

" You have made her an offer already, then ? "

170 DANIEL DERONDA.

" No. "

" She is a young lady with a will of her own, I
fiuicy. Extremely well fitted to make a rumpus.
She would know what she liked. "

"She doesn't like you," said Graudcourt, with
the ghost of a smile.

" Perfectly true, " said Lush, adding again in a
markedly sneering tone, " However, if you and
she are devoted to each other, that will be
enough. "

Grandcourt took no notice of this speech, but
sipped liis coffee, rose, and strolled out on the
lawn, all the dogs following him.

Lush glanced after him a moment, then resumed
his cigar and lit it, but smoked slowly, consult-
ing his beard with inspecting eyes and fingers,
till he finally stroked it with an air of having
arrived at some conclusion, and said, in a subdued
voice, —

" Check, old boy I "

Lush, being a man of some ability, had not
known Grandcourt for fifteen years without learn-
ing what sort of measures were useless with him,
though what sort might be useful remained often
dubious. In the beginning of his career he held a
fellowship, and was near taking orders for the sake
of a college living ; but not being fond of that pros-
pect, accepted instead the office of travelling com-
panion to a marquess, and afterwards to young
Grandcourt, who had lost his father early, and
who found Lush so convenient that he had allowed
him to become prime minister in all his more per-
sonal affairs. The habit of fifteen years had made
Grandcourt more and more in need of Lush's liandi-
ness, and Lush more and more in need of the lazy

MEETING STREAMS. 171

luxury to which his transactions on behalf of
Grandcourt made no interruption worth reckoning.
I cannot saA' that the same lengthened habit had
intensified Grandcourt 's want of respect for his
companion, since that want had been absolute from
the beginning, but it had confirmed his sense that
he might kick Lush if he chose, — only he never
did choose to kick any animal, because the act of
kicking is a compromising attitude, and a gentle-
man's dogs should be kicked for him. He only
said things whicli might have exposed himself to
be kicked if his confidant had been a man of inde-
pendent sjtirit. But what son of a vicar who has
stinted his wife and daughters of calico in order to
send his male offspring to Oxford, can keep an
independent spirit when he is bent on dining with
high discrimination, riding good horses, living
generally in the most luxuriant honey-blossomed
clover, — and all without working ? Mr Lush had
passed for a scholar once, and had still a sense of
scholarship when he was not trying to remember
much of it; but the bachelors' and other arts
which soften manners are a time-honoured prepa-
ration for sinecures; and Lush's present comfort-
able provision was as good as a sinecure in not
requiring more than the odour of departed learning.
He was not unconscious of being held kickable,
but he preferred counting that estimate among the
peculiarities of Grandcourt's character, which made
one of his incalculable moods or judgments as good
as another. Since in his own opinion he had
never done a bad action, it did not seem necessary
to consider whether he should l)e likely to commit
one if his love of ease required it. Lush's love of
ease was well satisfied at present, and if his pud-

172 DANIEL DERONDA.

dings were rolled towards him in the dust, he
took the inside bits and found them relishing.

This morning, for example, though he had en-
countered more annoyance than usual, he went to
his private sitting-room and played a good hour
on the violoncello.

CHAPTER XIII.

" Philistia, be thou glad of me ! "

Grandcourt having made up his mind to marry
Miss Harleth showed a power of adapting means to
ends. During the next fortnight there was hardly
a day on which by some arrangement or other he
did not see lier, or prove by emphatic attentions
that she occupied his thoughts. His cousin Mrs.
Torrington was now doing the honours of his
house, so that Mrs. Davilow and Gwendolen could
be invited to a large party at Diplow in which
there were many witnesses how the host distin-
guished the dowerless beauty, and showed no
solicitude about the heiress. The world — I mean
Mr. Gascoigne and all the families worth speaking
of within visiting distance of Pennicote — felt an
assurance on the subject which in the Eector's
mind converted itself into a resolution to do his
duty by his niece and see that the settlements
were adequate. Indeed the wonder to him and
Mrs. Davilow was that the offer for which so many
suitable occasions presented themselves had not
been already made ; and in this wonder Grandcourt
himself was not without a share. When he had
told his resolution to Lush, he had thought that
the affair would be concluded more quickly, and
to his own surprise he had repeatedly promised
himself in a morning that he would to-day give

/

174 DANIEL DERONDA.

Gwendoleu the opportunity of accepting him, and
had found in the evening that the necessary for-
mality was still unaccomplished. This remarkable
fact served to heighten his determination on an-
other day. He had never admitted to himself that
Gwendolen might refuse him, but — heaven help
us all ! — we are often unable to act on our certain-
ties ; our objection to a contrary issue (were it
possible) is so strong that it rises like a spectral
illusion between us and our certainty : we are
rationally sure that the blind-worm cannot bite
us mortally, but it would be so intolerable to be
bitten, and the creature has a biting look, — v\^e
decline to handle it.

He had asked leave to have a beautiful horse of
his brought for Gwendolen to ride. Mrs. Davilow
was to accompany her in the carriage, and they
were to go to Diplow to lunch, Grandcourt con-
ducting them. It was a fine mid-harvest time,
not too warm for a noonday ride of five miles to be
delightful : the poppies glowed on the borders of
the fields, there was enough breeze to move gently
like a social spirit among the ears uf uncut corn,
and to wing the shadow of a cloud across the soft
gray downs ; here the sheaves were standing, there
the horses were straining their muscles under the
last load from a wide space of stubble, but every-
where the green pastures made a broader setting
for the cornfields, and the cattle took their rest
under wide branches. The road lay through a bit
of country where the dairy-farms looked much as
they did in the days of our forefathers, — where
peace and permanence seemed to find a home away
from the busy change that sent the railway train
flying in the distance.

MEETING STREA.MS. 175

But the spirit of peace and permanence did not
penetrate poor Mrs. Davilow's mind so as to over-
come her habit of uneasy foreboding. Gwendolen
and Grandcourt cantering in front of her, and then
slackening their pace to a conversational walk till
the carriage came up with them again, made a
gratifying sight ; but it served chiefly to keep up
the conflict of hopes and fears about her daughter's
lot. Here was an irresistible opportunity for a
lover to speak and put an end to all uncertainties,
and Mrs. Davilow could only hope with trembling
that Gwendolen's decision would be favourable.
Certainly if Rex's love had been repugnant to her,
Mr. Grandcourt had the advantage of being in
complete contrast with Rex ; and that he had pro-
duced some quite novel impression on her seemed
evident in her marked abstinence from satirical
observations, nay, her total silence about his char-
acteristics, a silence which Mrs. Davilow did not
dare to break. " Is he a man she would be happy
with ? " — was a question that inevitably arose
in the motlier's mind. " Well, perhaps as happy
as she would be with any one else — or as most
other women are " — was the answer with which
she tried to quiet herself ; for she could not ima-
gine Gwendolen under the influence of any feeling
which would make her satisfied in what we tradi-
tionally call " mean circumstances. "

Grandcourt's own thought was looking in the
same direction : he wanted to have done with the
uncertainty that belonged to his not having spoken.
As to any further uncertainty — well, it was some-
thing without any reasonable basis, some quality
in the air which acted as an irritant to his wishes.

Gwendolen enjoyed the riding, but her pleasure

176 DANIEL DERONDA.

did not break forth in girlish unpremeditated chat
and laughter as it did on that morning with Rex.
She spoke a little, and even laughed, but with a
lightness as of a far-off echo : for her too there was
some peculiar quality in the air, — not, she was sure,
any subjugation of her will by Mr. Grandcourt, and
the splendid prospects he meant to offer her; for
Gwendolen desired every one, that dignified gen-
tleman himself included, to understand that she
was going to do just as she liked, and that they
had better not calculate on her pleasing them. If
she chose to take this husband, she would have
him know that she was not going to renounce her
freedom, or, according to her favourite formula,
" not going to do as other women did. "

Grandcourt's speeches this morning were, as
usual, all of that brief sort which never fails to
make a conversational figure when the speaker is
held important in his circle. Stopping so soon,
they give signs of a suppressed and formidable
ability to say more, and have also the meritorious
quality of allowing lengthiness to others.

" How do you like Criterion's paces ? " he said,
after they had entered the park and were slacken-
ing from a canter to a walk.

" He is delightful to ride. I should like to have
a leap with him, if it would not frighten mamma.
There was a good wide channel we passed five
minutes ago. I should like to have a gallop back
and take it. "

" Pray do. We can take it together. "

" No, thanks. Mamma is so timid, — if she saw
me it might make her ill. "

" Let me go and explain. Criterion would take
it without fail. "

MEETING STREAMS. 177

" No — indeed — you are very kind — but it
would alarm her too much. I dare take any leap
when she is not by; but I do it and don't tell her
about it. "

" We can let the carriage pass, and then set off. "

"No, no, pray don't think of it any more; I
spoke quite randomly, " said Gwendolen ; she be-
gan to feel a new objection to carrying out her
own proposition.

" But Mrs. Davilow knows I shall take care
of you. "

" Yes, but she would think of you as having to
take care of my broken neck. "

There was a considerable pause before Grand-
court said, looking towards her, " I should like to
have the right always to take care of you. "

Gwendolen did not turn her eyes on him : it
seemed to her a long while that she was first blush-
ing, and then turning pale, but to Grandcourt's
rate of judgment she answered soon enough, with
the lightest flute-tone and a careless movement of
the head, " Oh, I am not sure that I want to be /
taken care of : if I chose to risk breaking my
neck, I should like to be at liberty to do it. "

She checked her horse as she spoke, and turned
in her saddle, looking towards the advancing car-
riage. Her eyes swept across Grandcourt as she
made this movement, but there was no language in
them to correct the carelessness of her reply. At
that very moment she was aware that she was risk-
ing something, — not her neck, but the possibility
of finallv checking Grandcourt's advances, and she
did not feel contented with the possibility.

" Damn her ! " thought Grandcourt, as he too
chocked his horse. He was not a wordy thinker ;

VOL. I. 12

178 DANIEL DERONDA.

and this explosive phrase stood for mixed impres-
sions which eloquent interpreters might have ex-
panded into some sentences full of an irritated
sense that he was being mystified, and a determi-
nation that this girl should not make a fool of
him. Did she want him to throw himself at her
feet and declare that he was dying for her ? It
was not by that gate that she would enter on the
privileges he could give her. Or did she expect
him to write his proposals? Equally a delusion.
He would not make his offer in any way that could
place him definitely in the position of being re-
jected. But as to her accepting him, she had done
it already in accepting his marked attentions ; and
anything which happened to break them off would
be understood to her disadvantage. She was merely
coquetting, then ?

However, the carriage came up, and no further
tete-a-tete could well occur before their arrival at
the house, where there was abundant company, to
whom Gwendolen, clad in riding-dress with her
hat laid aside, clad also in the repute of being
chosen by Mr. Grandcourt, was naturally a centre
of observation ; and since the objectionable Mr.
Lush was not there to look at her, this stimulus
of admiring attention heightened her spirits, and
dispersed, for the time, the uneasy consciousness
of divided impulses which threatened her with
repentance of her own acts. Whether Grandcourt
had been offended or not there was no judging :
his manners were unchanged, but Gwendolen's
acuteness had not gone deeper than to discern that
his manners were no clew for her, and because
these were unchanged she was not the less afraid
of him.

MEETING STREAMS. 179

She had not been at Diplow before except to
dine ; and since certain points of view from the
windows and the garden were worth showing, Lady-
Flora Hollis proposed after luncheon, when some
of the guests had dispersed, and the sun was slop-
ing towards four o'clock, that the remaining party
should make a little exploration. Here came fre-
quent opportunities when Grandcourt might have
retained Gwendolen apart, and have spoken to her
unheard. But no ! He indeed spoke to no one
else, but what he said was nothing more eager or
intimate than it had been in their first interview.
He looked at her not less than usual ; and some of
her defiant spirit having come back, she looked full
at him in return, not caring — rather preferring
— that his eyes had no expression in them.

But at last it seemed as if he entertained some
contrivance. After they had nearly made the tour
of the grounds, the whole party paused by the pool
to be amused with Fetch's accomplishment of
bringing a water-lily to the bank like Cowper's
spaniel Beau, and having been disappointed in his
first attempt insisted on his trying again.

Here Grandcourt, who stood with Gwendolen
outside the group, turned deliberately, and fixing
his eyes on a knoll planted with American shrubs,
and having a winding path up it, said languidly, — ■

" This is a bore. Shall we go up there ? "

" Oh, certainly — since we are exploring, " said
Gwendolen. She was rather pleased, and yet
afraid.

The path was too narrow for him to offer his
arm, and they walked up in silence. When tliey
were on the bit of platform at the summit, Grand-
court said, — ■

i8o DANIEL DERONDA.

" There is nothing to be seen here : the thing
was not worth climbing. "

How was it that Gwendolen did not laugh ? She
was perfectly silent, holding up the folds of her
robe like a statue, and giving a harder grasp to the
handle of her whip, which she had snatched up
automatically with her hat when they had first set
off.

" What sort of place do you like ? " said
Grandcourt.

" Different places are agreeable in their way.
On the whole, I think I prefer places that are open
and cheerful. I am not fond of anything sombre. "

" Your place at Offendene is too sombre. "

" It is, rather. "

" You will not remain there long, I hope. "

" Oh, yes, I think so. Mamma likes to be near
her sister. "

Silence for a short space.

" It is not to be supposed that you will always
live there, though Mrs. Davilow may. "

" I don't know. We women can't go in search
of adventures, — to find out the Northwest Passage
or the source of the Nile, or to hunt tigers in the
East. We must stay where we grow, or where the
gardeners like to transplant us. We are brought
up like the flowers, to look as pretty as we can,
and be dull without complaining. That is my
notion about the plants : they are often bored, and
that is the reason why some of them have got
poisonous. What do you think ? " Gwendolen
had run on rather nervously, lightly whipping
the rhododendron bush in front of her.

"I quite agree. Most things are bores," said
Grandcourt, his mind having been pushed into an

MEETING STREAMS. i8i

easy current, away from its intended track.
But after a moment's pause he continued in his
broken, refined drawl, —

" But a woman can be married. "

" Some women can. "

" You certainly, unless you are obstinately
cruel. "

" I am not sure that I am not both cruel and
obstinate. " Here Gwendolen suddenly turned her
head and looked full at Grandcourt, whose eyes
she had felt to be upon her throughout their con-
versation. She was wondering what the effect of
looking at him would be on herself rather than on
him.

He stood perfectly still, half a yard or more
away from her ; and it flashed through her thought
that a sort of lotos-eater's stupor had begun in
him and was taking possession of her. Then he
said, —

" Are you as uncertain about yourself as you
make others about you ? "

"I am quite uncertain about myself; I don't
know how uncertain others may be. "

" And you wish them to understand that you
don't care ? " said Grandcourt, with a touch of new
hardness in his tone.

" I did not say that, " Gwendolen replied, hesi-
tatingly, and turning her eyes away whipped the
rhododendron bush again. She wished she were on
horseback that she might set off on a canter. It
was impossible to set off running down the knoll.

" You do care, then," said Grandcourt, not more
quickly, but with a softened drawl.

"Ha! my whip!" said Gwendolen, in a little
scream of distress. She had let it go — what could

1 82 DANIEL DEUONDA.

be more natural in a slight agitation? — and — but
this seemed less natural in a gold-handled whip
which had been left altogether to itself — it had
gone with some force over the immediate shrubs,
and had lodged itself in the branches of an azalea
half-way down the knoll. She could run down
now, laughing prettily, and Grandcourt was obliged
to follow; but she was beforehand with him in
rescuing the whip, and continued on her way to
the level ground, when she paused and looked at
Grandcourt with an exasperating brightness in her
glance and a heightened colour, as if she had car-
ried a triumph; and these indications were still
noticeable to Mrs. Davilow when Gwendolen and
Grandcourt joined the rest of the party.
; "It is all coquetting," thought Grandcourt;
^ the next time I beckon she will come down. "
' It seemed to him likely that this final beckon-
ing might happen the very next day, when there
was to be a picnic archery meeting in Cardell
Chase, according to the plan projected on the even-
ing of the ball.

Even in Gwendolen's mind that result was one
of two likelihoods that presented themselves alter-
nately, one of two decisions towards which she
was being precipitated, as if they were two sides
of a boundary-line, and she did not know on which
she should fall. This subjection to a possible self, a
self not to be absolutely predicted about, caused her
soine astonishment and terror: her favourite key
of life — doing as she liked — seemed to fail her,
and she could not foresee what at a given moment
she might like to do. The prospect of marrying
Grandcourt really seemed more attractive to her
than she had believed beforehand that any mar-

MEETING STREAMS. 183

riage could be : the dignities, the luxuries, the
power of doing a great deal of what she liked to
do, which had now come close to her, and within
her choice to secure or to lose, took hold of her
nature as if it had been the strong odour of what
she had only imagined and longed for before. And
Grandcourt himself ? He seemed as little of a Haw
in his fortunes as a lover and husband could possi-
bly be. Gwendolen wished to mount the chariot
and drive the plunging horses herself, with a
spouse by her side who would fold his arms and
give her his countenance without looking ridicu-
lous. Certainly, with all her perspicacity, and
all the reading which seemed to her mamma dan-
gerously instructive, her judgment was consciously
a little at fault before Grandcourt. He was ador-
ably quiet and free from absurdities, — he would be
a husband to suit with the best appearance a woman
could make. But what else was he ? He had
been everywhere, and seen everything. That was
desirable, and especially gratifying as a preamble
to his supreme preference for Gwendolen Harleth.
He did not appear to enjoy anything much. That
was not necessary; and the less he had of particu-l
lar tastes or desires, the more freedom his wife 1
was likely to have in following hers. Gwendolen •
conceived that after marriage she would most prob-
ably be able to manage him thoroughly.

How was it that he caused her unusual con-
straint now ? — that she was loss daring and play-
ful in her talk with him than with any other
admirer she had known ? That absence of demon-
strativeness which she was glad of, acted as a
charm in more senses than one, and was slightly
benumbing. Grandcourt afccr all was formidable,

1 84 DANIEL DERONDA.

— a handsome lizard of a hitherto unknown spe-
cies, not of the lively, darting kind. But Gwen-
dolen knew hardly anything about lizards, and
ignorance gives one a large range of probabilities.
This splendid specimen was probably gentle, suit-
able as a boudoir pet : what may not a lizard be,
if you know nothing to the contrary ? Her ac-
quaintance with Grandcourt was such that no
accomplishment suddenly revealed in him would
have surprised her. And he was so little sugges-
tive of drama, that it hardly occurred to her to
think with any detail how his life of thirty-six
years had been passed : in general, she imagined
him always cold and dignified, not likely ever to
have committed himself. He had hunted the
tiger, — had he ever been in love or made love ?
The one experience and the other seemed alike
remote in Gwendolen's fancy from the Mr. Grand-
court who had come to Diplow in order apparently
to make a chief epoch in her destiny, — perhaps by
introducing her to that state of marriage which
she had resolved to make a state of greater free-
dom than her girlhood. And on the whole she
wished to marry him ; he suited her purpose ; her
prevailing, deliberate intention was to accept him.

But was she going to fulfil her deliberate inten-
tion ? She began to be afraid of herself, and to
find out a certain difhculty in doing as she liked.
Already her assertion of independence in evading
his advances had been carried farther than was
necessary, and she was thinking with some anxiety
what she might do on the next occasion.

Seated according to her habit with her back to
the horses on their drive homewards, she was
completely under the observation of her mamma.

MEETING STREAMS. 185

who took the excitement and changefulness in the
expression of her eyes, her unwonted absence of
mind and total silence, as unmistakable signs that
something unprecedented had occurred between
her and Grandcourt. Mrs. Davilow's uneasiness
determined her to risk some speech on the subject ;
the Gascoignes were to dine at Offendene, and in
what had occurred this morning there might be
some reason for consulting the Rector ; not that she
expected him any more than herself to influence
Gwendolen, but that her anxious mind wanted to
be disburthened.

" Something has happened, dear ? " she began,
in a tender tone of question.

Gwendolen looked round, and seeming to be
roused to the consciousness of her physical self,
took off her gloves and then her hat, that the soft
breeze might blow on her head. They were in a
retired bit of the road, where the long afternoon
shadows from the bordering trees fell across it,
and no observers were within sight. Her eyes
continued to meet her mother's, but she did not
speak.

" Mr. Grandcourt has been saying something ?
— Tell me, dear. " The last words were uttered
beseechingly.

" What am I to tell you, mamma ? " was the
perverse answer.

" I am sure something has agitated you. You
ought to confide in me, Gwen. You ought not to
leave me in doubt and anxiety. " Mrs. Davilow's
eyes filled with tears.

" Mamma dear, please don't be miserable," said
Gwendolen, with pettish remonstrance. " It only
makes me more so. 1 am in doubt myself.

i86 DANIEL DERONDA.

" About Mr. Grandcourt's intentions ? " said Mrs.
Davilow, gathering determination from her alarms.

" No ; not at all, " said Gwendolen, with some
curtness, and a pretty little toss of the head as she
put on her hat again.

" About whether you will accept him, then ? "

" Precisely. "

" Have you given him a doubtful answer ? "

" I have given him no answer at all. "

" He has spoken so that you could not misunder-
stand him ? "

" As far as I would let him speak. "

" You expect him to persevere ? " Mrs. Davilow
put this question rather anxiously, and receiving
no answer, asked another. " You don't consider
that you have discouraged him ? "

" I dare say not. "

" I thought you liked him, dear, " said Mrs.
Davilow, timidly.

" So I do, mamma, as liking goes. There is less
to dislike about him than about most men. He is
quiet and distingue. " Gwendolen so far spoke
with a pouting sort of gravity ; but suddenly she
recovered some of her mischievousness, and her
face broke into a smile as she added, " Indeed he
has all the qualities that would make a Imsband
tolerable, — battlement, veranda, stables, &c., no
grins, and no glass in his eye. "

" Do be serious with me for a moment, dear.
Am I to understand that you mean to accept him ? "

" Oh, pray, mamma, leave me to myself, " said
Gwendolen, with a pettish distress in her voice.

And Mrs. Davilow said no more.

When they got home, Gwendolen declared that
she would not dine. She was tired, and would

MEETING STREAIIS. 187

come down in the evening after she had taken
some rest. The probability that her uncle would
hear what had passed did not trouble her. She
was convinced that whatever he might say would
be on the side of her accepting Grandcourt, and
she wished to accept him if she could. At this
moment she would willingly have had weights
hung on her own caprice. ---'

Mr. Gascoigne did hear — not Gwendolen's an-
swers repeated verbatim, but a softened generalized
account of them. The mother conveyed as vaguely
as the keen Rector's questions would let her the
impression that Gwendolen was in some uncer-
tainty about her own mind, but inclined on the
whole to acceptance. The result was that the
uncle felt himself called on to interfere: he did
not conceive that he should do his duty in with-
holding direction from his niece in a momentous
crisis of this kind. Mrs. Davilow ventured a
hesitating opinion that perhaps it would be safer
to say nothing, — Gwendolen was so sensitive (she
did not like to say wilful). But the Eector's was
a firm mind, grasping its first judgments tena-
ciously and acting on them promptly, whence
counter-judgments were no more for him than
shadows fleeting across the solid ground to which
he adjusted himself.

This match with Grandcourt presented itself to
him as a sort of public aftair ; perhaps there were
ways in which it might even strengthen the Estab-
lishment. To the Eector, whose father (nobody
would have suspected it, and nobody was told) had
risen to be a provincial corn-dealer, aristocratic
heirship resembled regal heirship in excepting its
possessor from the ordinary standard of moral

1 88 DANIEL DERONDA.

judgments, Grandcourt, the almost certain baronet,
the probable peer, was to be ranged with public
personages, and was a match to be accepted on
Ijroad general grounds, national and ecclesiastical.
Such public personages, it is true, are often in the
nature of giants which an ancient community may
have felt pride and safety in possessing, though,
regarded privately, these born eminences must
often have been inconvenient and even noisome.
But of the future husband personally Mr. Gas-
coigne was disposed to think the best. Gossip is
a sort of smoke that comes from the dirty tobacco-
pipes of those who difiuse it : it proves nothing
but the bad taste of the smoker. But if Grand-
court had really made any deeper or more unfortu-
nate experiments in folly than were common in
young men of high prospects, he was of an age to
have finished them. All accounts can be suitably
wound up when a man has not ruined himself, and
the expense may be taken as an insurance against
future error. This was the view of practical wis-
dom ; with reference to higher views, repentance
had a supreme moral and religious value. There
was every reason to believe that a woman of well-
regulated mind would be happy with Grandcourt.

It was no surprise to Gwendolen on coming
down to tea to be told that her uncle wished to see
her in the dining-room. He threw aside the paper
as she entered, and greeted her with his usual kind-
ness. As his wife had remarked, he always " made
much " of Gwendolen, and her importance had
risen of late. " My dear, " he said, in a fatherly
way, moving a chair for her as he held her hand,
" I want to speak to you on a subject which is
more momentous than any other with regard to

MEETING STREAMS, 189

your welfare. You will guess what I mean. But
I shall speak to you with perfect directness : in
such matters I consider myself bound to act as
your father. You have no objection, I hope ? "

" Oh dear, no, uncle. You have always been
very kind to me," said Gwendolen, frankly. This
evening she was willing, if it were possible, to be
a little fortified against her troublesome self, and
her resistant temper was in abeyance. The Eec-
tor's mode of speech always conveyed a thrill of
authority, as of a word of command : it seemed to
take for granted that there could be no wavering
in the audience, and that every one was going to
be rationally obedient.

" It is naturally a satisfaction to me that the
prospect of a marriage for you — advantageous in
the highest degree — has presented itself so early.
I do not know exactly what has passed between
you and Mr. Grandcourt, but I presume there can
be little doubt, from the way in which he has dis-
tinguished you, that he desires to make you his
wife. "

Gwendolen did not speak immediately, and her
uncle said with more emphasis, —

" Have you any doubt of that yourself, my dear ? "

" I suppose that is what he has been thinking
of. But he may have changed his mind to-mor-
row, " said Gwendolen.

" Why to-morrow ? Has he made advances which
you have discouraged ? "

" I think he meant — he began to make advances
— but I did not encourage them. I turned the
conversation. "

" Will you confide in me so far as to tell me
your reasons ? "

190 DANIEL DERONDA.

" I am not sure that I had any reasons, uncle. "
Gwendolen laughed rather artificially.

" You are quite capable of reflecting, Gwendolen.
You are aware that this is not a trivial occasion,
and it concerns your establishment for life under
circumstances which may not occur again. You
have a duty here both to yourself and your family.
I wish to understand whether you have any
ground for hesitating as to your acceptance of Mr.
Grandcourt. "

" I suppose I hesitate without grounds. " Gwen-
dolen spoke rather poutingly, and her uncle grew
suspicious.

" Is he disagreeable to you personally ? "

" No. "

" Have you heard anything of him which has
affected you disagreeably ? " The Eector thought
it impossible that Gwendolen could have heard
the gossip he had heard, but in any case he must
endeavour to put all things in the right light for
her.

" I have heard nothing about him except that he
is a great match, " said Gwendolen, with some
sauciness ; " and that affects me very agreeably. "

" Then, my dear Gwendolen, I have nothing
further to say than this : you hold your fortune
in your own hands, — a fortune such as rarely hap-
pens to a girl in your circumstances, — a fortune in
fact which almost takes the question out of the
range of mere personal feeling, and makes your
acceptance of it a duty. If Providence offers you
power and position, — especially when unclogged by
any conditions that are repugnant to you, — your
course is one of responsibility, into which caprice
must not enter. A man does not like to have his

MEETING STRExlMS. 191

attachment trifled with : he may not be at once
repelled, — these things are matters of individual
disposition. But the trifling may be carried too
far. And I must point out to you that in case Mr.
Grandcourt were repelled without your having re-
fused him, without your having intended ulti-
mately to refuse him, your situation would be a
humiliating and painful one. I, for my part,
should regard you with severe disapprobation, as
the victim of nothing else than your own coquetry
and folly."

Gwendolen became pallid as she listened to this
admonitory speech. The ideas it raised had the
force of sensations. Her resistant courage would
not help her here, because her uncle was not urg-
ing her against her own resolve ; he was pressing
upon her the motives of dread which she already
felt; he was making her more conscious of the
risks that lay within herself. She was silent, and
the Eector observed that he had produced some
strong effect.

" I mean this in kindness, my dear. " His tone
had softened.

" I am aware of that, uncle, " said Gwendolen,
rising and shaking her head back, as if to rouse
herself out of painful passivity. " I am not fool-
ish. I know that I must be married some time
— before it is too late. And I don't see how 1
could do better than marry Mr. Grandcourt. I
mean to accept him, if possible. " She felt as if
she were reinforcing herself by speaking with this
decisiveness to her uncle.

But the Eector was a little startled by so bare a
version of his own meaning from those young lips.
He wished that in her mind his advice should be

192 DANIEL DERONDA.

taken in an infusion of sentiments proper to a girl,
and such as are presupposed in the advice of a
clergyman, although he may not consider them
always appropriate to be put forward. He wished
his niece parks, carriages, a title, — everytliing
that would make this world a pleasant abode ; but
he wished her not to be cynical, — to be, on the
contrary, religiously dutiful, and have warm
domestic affections.

" My dear Gwendolen, " he said, rising also, and
speaking with benignant gravity, " I trust that you
will tind in marriage a new fountain of duty and
aftection. Marriage is the only true and satisfac-
tory sphere of a woman, and if your marriage with
Mr. Grandcourt should be happily decided upon,
you will have probably an increasing power, both
of rank and wealth, which may be used for the
benefit of others. These considerations are some-
thing liigher than romance. You are fitted by
natural gifts for a position which, considering your
birth and early prospects, could hardly be looked
forward to as in the ordinary course of things ; and
I trust that you will grace it not only by those
personal gifts, but by a good and consistent life. "

" I hope mamma will be the happier, " said
Gwendolen, in a more cheerful way, lifting her
hands backward to her neck and moving towards
the door. She wanted to waive those higher
considerations.

Mr. Gascoigne felt that he had come to a satis-
factory understanding with his niece, and had
furthered her happy settlement in life by further-
ing her engagement to Grandcourt. Meanwhile
there was another person to whom the contempla-
tion of that issue had been a motive for some

MEETING STREAMS. 193

activity, and who believed that he too on this
particular day had done something towards bring-
ing about a favourable decision in Ms sense, —
which happened to be the reverse of the Eector'a

Mr. Lush's absence from Diplow during Gwen-
dolen's visit had been due not to any fear on
his part of meeting that supercilious young lady,
or of being abashed by her frank dislike, but to an
engagement from which he expected important
consequences. He was gone in fact to the Wan-
chester Station to meet a lady accompanied by a
maid and two children, whom he put into a fly,
and afterwards followed to tlie hotel of the Golden
Keys in that town. An impressive woman, whom
many would turn to look at again in passing ; her
figure was slim and sufficiently tall, her face rather
emaciated, so that its sculpturesque beauty was the
more pronounced, her crisp hair perfectly black,
and her large anxious eyes also what we call black.
Her dress was soberly correct, her age perhaps
physically more advanced than the number of years
would imply, but hardly less than seven-and-thirty.
An uneasy-looking woman : her glance seemed to
presuppose that people and things were going to
be unfavourable to her, while she was nevertheless
ready to meet them with resolution. The children
were lovely, — a dark-haired girl of six or more, a
fairer boy of five. When Lush incautiously ex-
pressed some surprise at her having brought the
children, she said, with a sharp-edged intonation, —

" Did you suppose I should come wandering
about here by myself? Why should I not bring
all four if I liked ? "

"Oh, certainly," said Lush, with his usual
fluent nonchalance.

VOL. I. — 13

194 DANIEL DERONDA.

He stayed an hour or so in conference witli her,
and rode back to Diplow in a state of mind that
was at once hopeful and busily anxious as to the
execution of the little plan on which his hopeful-
ness was based. Grandcourt's marriage to Gwen-
dolen Harleth would not, he believed, be much of
a good to either of them, and it would plainly be
fraught with disagreeables to himself. But now
he felt confident enough to say inwardly, " I will
take, nay, I will lay odds that the marriage will
never happen. "

CHAPTER XIV.

" I will not clothe myself in wreck, — wear gems
Sawed from cramped fiuger-bones of women drowned ;
Feel chilly vaporous hands of ireful ghosts
Clutching my necklace ; trick my maiden breast
With orphans' heritage. Let your dead love
Marry its dead."

Gwendolen looked lovely and vigorous as a tall,
newly opened lily the next morning : there was a
reaction of young energy in her, and yesterday's
self-distrust seemed no more than the transient
shiver on the surface of a full stream. The roving
archery match in Cardell Chase was a delightful
prospect for the sport's sake : she felt herself
beforehand moving about like a wood-nymph under
the beeches (in appreciative company), and the
imagined scene lent a charm to further advances
on the part of Grandcourt, — not an impassioned
lyrical Daphnis for the wood-nymph, certainly ; but
so much the better. To-day Gwendolen foresaw
him making slow conversational approaches to a
declaration, and foresaw herself awaiting and encour-
aging it according to the rational conclusion which
she had expressed to her uncle.

When she came down to breakfast (after every
one had left the table except Mrs. Davilow) there
were letters on her plate. One of them she read
with a gathering smile, and then handed it to her
mamma, who, on returning it, smiled also, finding
new cheerfulness in the good spirits her daughter
had shown ever since waking, and said, —

196 DANIEL DERONDA.

" You don't feel inclined to go a thousand miles
away ? "

" Not exactly so far."

" It was a sad omission not to have written again
before this. Can't you write now — before we set
out this morning ? "

" It is not so pressing. To-morrow will do. You
see they leave town to-day. I must write to Dover.
They will be there till Monday."

" Shall I write for you, dear, — if it teases you ? "

Gwendolen did not speak immediately, but after
sipping her coffee answered brusquely, " Oh, no,
let it be ; I will write to-morrow." Then, feeling a
touch of compunction, she looked up and said with
playful tenderness, "Dear, old, beautiful mamma! "

" Old, child, truly."

" Please don't, mamma ! I meant old for darling.
You are hardly twenty-five years older than I am.
When you talk in that way, my life shrivels up
before me."

" One can have a great deal of happiness in
twenty-five years, my dear."

" I must lose no time in beginning," said Gwen-
dolen, merrily. " The sooner I get my palaces and
coaches the better."

"And a good husband who adores you, Gwen,"
said Mrs. Davilow, encouragingly.

Gwendolen put out her lips saucily, and said
nothing.

It was a slight drawback on her pleasure in
starting that the Eector was detained by magis-
trate's business, and would probably not be able to
get to Cardell Chase at all that day. She cared
little that Mrs. Gascoigne and Anna chose not to
go without him, but her uncle's presence would

MEETING STREAMS. 197

have seemed to make it a matter of course that the
decision taken would be acted on. For decision in
itself began to be formidable. Having come close
to accepting Grandcourt, Gwendolen felt this lot of
unhoped-for fulness rounding itself too definitely :
when we take to wishing a great deal for ourselves,
v/'hatever we get soon turns into mere limitation
and exclusion. Still there was the reassuring
thought that marriage would be the gate into a
larger freedom.

The place of meeting was a grassy spot called
Green Ai'bour, where a bit of hanging wood made a
sheltering amphitheatre. It was here that the
coachful of servants with provisions had to prepare
the picnic meal ; and the warden of the Chase was to
guide the roving archers so as to keep them within the
due distance from this centre, and hinder them from
wandering beyond the limit which had been fixed
on, — a curve that might be drawn through certain
well-known points, such as the Double Oak, the
Whispering Stones, and the High Cross. The plan
was, to take only a preliminary stroll before lun-
cheon, keeping the main roving expedition for the
more exquisite lights of the afternoon. The mus-
ter was rapid enough to save every one from dull
moments of. waiting ; and when the groups began to
scatter themselves through the light and shadow
made here by closely neighbouring beeches and
there by rarer oaks, one may suppose that a painter
would have been glad to look on. This roving
archery was far prettier than the stationary game ;
but success in shooting at variable marks was less
favoured by practice, and the hits were distributed
among the volunteer archers otherwise than they
would have been in target-shooting. From this

198 DANIEL DERONDA.

cause, perhaps, as well as from the twofold distrac-
tion of being preoccupied and wishing not to betray
her preoccupation, Gwendolen did not greatly dis-
tinguish herself in these first experiments, unless it
were by the lively grace with which she took her
comparative failure. She was in her white and
green as on the day of the former archery meeting,
when it made an epoch for her that she was intro-
duced to Grandcourt ; he was continually by her
side now, yet it would have been hard to tell from
mere looks and manners that their relation to each
other had at all changed since their first conversa-
tion. Still there were other grounds that made
most persons conclude them to be, if not engaged
already, on the eve of being so. And she believed
this herself. As they were all returning towards
Green Arbour in divergent groups, not thinking at all
of taking aim but merely chattering, words passed
which seemed really the beginning of that end, —
the beginning of her acceptance. Grandcourt said,
" Do you know how long it is since I first saw you
in this dress ? "

" The archery meeting was on the 25th, and this
is the 13th," said Gwendolen, laughingly. "I am
not good at calculating, but I will venture to say
that it must be nearly three weeks."

A little pause, and then he said, "That is a great
loss of time."

" That your knowing me has caused you ? Pray
don't be uncomplimentary : I don't like it."

Pause again. " It is because of the gain that I
feel the loss."

Here Gwendolen herself left a pause. She was
thinking, " He is really very ingenious. He never
speaks stupidly." Her silence was so unusual that

MEETING STREAMS. 199

it seemed the strongest of favourable answers, and
he continued, —

" The gain of knowing you makes me feel the
time I lose in uncertainty. Bo you like uncer-
tainty ? "

" 1 think I do, rather," said Gwendolen, suddenly
beaming on him with a playful smile. " There is
more in it."

Grandcourt met her laughing eyes with a slow,
steady look right into them, which seemed like
vision in the abstract, and said, " Do you mean
more torment for me ? "

There was something so strange to Gwendolen in
this moment that she was quite shaken out of her
usual self-consciousness. Blushing and turning
away her eyes, she said, " No, that would make me
sorry."

^Grandcourt would have followed up this answer,
which the change in her manner made apparently
decisive of her favourable intention ; but he was not
in any way overcome so as to be unaware that they
were now, within sight of everybody, descending the
slope into Green Arbour, and descending it at an ill-
chosen point where it began to be inconveniently
steep. This was a reason for offering his hand in
the literal sense to help her ; she took it, and they
came down in silence, much observed by those
already on the level, — among others by Mrs.
Arrowpoint, who happened to be standing with
Mrs. Davilow. That lady had now made up her
mind that Grandcourt's merits were not such as
would have induced Catherine to accept him,
Catherine having so high a standard as to have
refused Lord Slogan. Hence she looked at the
tenant of Diplow with dispassionate eyes.

200 DANIEL DEROKDA.

" Mr. Grandconrt is not equal as a man to his
uncle, Sir Hugo ^Nfallinger, — too languid. To be
sui'e, Mr. Grandcourt is a much younger man, but I
shouldn't wonder if Sir Hugo were to outlive him,
notwithstanding the difference of years. It is ill
calculating on successions," concluded Mrs. Arrow-
point, rather too loudly.

" It is indeed," said Mrs. Davilow, able to assent
with quiet cheerfulness, for she was so well satisfied
with the actual situation of affairs that her habitual
melancholy in their general unsatisfactoriness was
altogether in abeyance.

I am not concerned to tell of the food that was
eaten in that green refectory, or even to dwell on
the glories of the forest scenery that spread them-
selves out beyond the level front of the hollow ;
being just now bound to tell a story of life at a
stage when the blissful beauty of earth and sky
entered only by narrow and oblique inlets into the
consciousness, which was busy with a small social
drama almost as little penetrated by a feeling of
wider relations as if it had been a puppet-show. It
will be understood that the food and champagne
Vv'ere of the best, — the talk and laughter, too,
in the sense of belonging to the best society, where
no one makes an invidious display of anything in
particular, and the advantages of the world are
taken with that high-bred depreciation which fol-
lows from being accustomed to them. Some of the
gentlemen strolled a little and indulged in a cigar,
there being a sufficient interval before four o'clock,
— the time for beginning to rove again. Among
these, strange to say, was Grandcourt ; but not Mr.
Lush, who seemed to be taking his pleasure quite
generously to-day by making himself particularly

MEETING STREAMS. 201

serviceable, ordering everything for everybody, and
by this activity becoming more than ever a blot on
the scene to Gwendolen, though he kept himself
amiably aloof from her, and never even looked at
her obviously. When there was a general move to
prepare for starting, it appeared that the bows had
all been put under the charge of Lord Brackenshaw's
valet, and Mr. Lush was concerned to save ladies the
trouble of fetching theirs from the carriage where
they were propped. He did not intend to bring
Gwendolen's ; but she, fearful lest he should do so,
hurried to fetch it herself. The valet, seeing her
approach, met her with it, and in giving it into her
hand gave also a letter addressed to her. She asked
no question about it, perceived at a glance that the
address was in a lady's handwriting (of the delicate
kind which used to be esteemed feminine before the
present uncial period), and moving away with her
bow in her hand, saw j\Ir. Lush coming to fetch
other bows. To avoid meeting him she turned aside
and walked with her back towards the stand of
carriages, opening the letter. It contained these
words : —

*'If Miss Harleth is in doubt whether she should
accept Mr. Graudcourt, let her break from her party
after they have passed the Whispering Stones and
return to that spot. She will tlien hear something to
decide her, but she can only hear it b}^ keeping this
letter a strict secret from every one. If she does not
act according to this letter, she will repent, as the
woman who writes it has repented. The secrecy Miss
Harleth will feel herself bound in honour to guard."

Gwendolen felt an inward shock, but her imme-
diate thought was, " It is come in time." It lay in

202 DANIEL DERONDA.

her youthfulness that she was absorbed by the idea of
the revelation to be made, and had not even a momen-
tary suspicion of contrivance that could justify her in
showing the letter. Her mind gathered itself up at
once into the resolution that she would manage to
go unobserved to the Whispering Stones; and thrust-
ing the letter into her pocket, she turned back to
rejoin the company, with that sense of having
something to conceal which to her nature had a
bracing quality and helped her to be mistress of
herself.

It was a surprise to every one that Grandcourt
was not, like the other smokers, on the spot in time
to set out roving with the rest. " We shall alight
on him by and by," said Lord Brackenshaw ; " he
can't be gone far." At any rate, no man could be
waited for. This apparent forgetfulness might be
taken for the distraction of a lover so absorbed in
thinking of the beloved object as to forget an
appointment which would l)ring him into her actual
presence. And the good-natured Earl gave Gwendo-
len a distant jocose hint to that effect, which she
took with suitable quietude. But the thought in
her own mind was, " Can he, too, be starting away
from a decision ? " It was not exactly a pleasant
thought to her ; but it was near the truth. " Start-
ing away," however, was not the right expression
for the languor of intention that came over Grand-
court, like a fit of diseased numbness, when an end
seemed within easy reach : to desist then, when all
expectation was to the contrary, became another
gratification of mere will, sublimely independent of
definite motive. At that moment he had begun a
second large cigar in a vague, hazy obstinacy, which,
if Lush or any other mortal who might be insulted

MEETING STREAMS. 203

with impunity had interrupted by overtaking him
with a request for his return, would have expressed
itself by a slow removal of his cigar to say, in an
undertone, " You '11 be kind enough to go to the
devil, will you ? "

But he was not interrupted, and the rovers set off
without any visible depression of spirits, leaving
behind only a few of the less vigorous ladies,
including Mrs. Davilow, who preferred a quiet
stroll free from obligation to keep up with others.
The enjoyment of the day was soon at its highest
pitch, the archery getting more spirited and the
changing scenes of the forest from roofed grove to
open glade growing lovelier with the lengthening
shadows, and the deeply felt but undefinable grada-
tions of the mellowing afternoon. It was agreed
that they were playing an extemporized " As you
like it ; " and when a pretty compliment had been
turned to Gwendolen about her having the part of
Eosalind, she felt the more compelled to be sur-
passing in liveliness. This was not very difficult
to her, for the effect of what had happened to-day
was an excitement which needed a vent, a sense
of adventure rather than alarm, and a straining
towards the management of her retreat so as not
to be impeded.

The roving had been lasting nearly an hour before
the arrival at the Whispering Stones, two tall con-
ical blocks that leaned towards each other like
gigantic gray-mantled figures. They were soon
surveyed and passed by with the remark that they
woiild be good ghosts on a starlit night. But a soft
sunlight was on them now, and Gwendolen felt dar-
ing. The stones were near a fine grove of beeches
where the archers found plenty of marks.

204 DANIEL DERONDA.

" How far are we from Green Arbour now ? " said
Gwendolen, having got in front by the side of the
warden.

" Oh, not more than half a mile, taking along the
avenue we 're going to cross up there : but I shall
take round a couple of miles, by the High Cross."

She was falling back among the rest, when
suddenly they seemed all to be hurrying obliquely
forward under the guidance of Mr. Lush, and,
lingering a little where she was, she perceived her
opportunity of slipping away, Soon she was out
of sight, and without runnings she seemed to herself
to fly along the ground and count the moments
nothing till she found herself back again at the
Whispering Stones. They turned their blank gray
sides to her ; what was there on the other side ?
If there were nothing after all ? That was her
only dread now, — to have to turn back again in
mystification ; and walking round the right-hand
stone without pause, she found herself in front of
some one whose large dark eyes met hers at a foot's
distance. In spite of expectation she was startled
and shrank back, but in doing so she could take in
the whole figure of this stranger and perceive that
she was unmistakably a lady, and one who must
once have been exceedingly handsome. She per-
ceived, also, that a few yards from her were two
children seated on the grass.

" Miss Harleth ? " said the lady.

" Yes." All Gwendolen's consciousness was
wonder.

" Have you accepted Mr. Grandcourt ? "

" No."

" I have promised to tell you something. And
you will promise to keep my secret. However

Lydia Gi.asher and Gwendolen at the Wiiispeking Stones.

MEETING STREAMS. 205

yon may decide, you will not tell Mr. Grandcourt,
or any one else, that you have seen me ? "

" I promise."

" My name is Lydia Glasher. Mr. Grandcourt
ought not to marry any one but me. I left my
husband and child for him nine years ago. Those
two children are his, and we have two others — girls
— who are older. My husband is dead now, and
Mr. Grandcourt ought to marry me. He ought to
make that boy his heir." ^^

She looked towards the boy as she spoke, and
Gwendolen's eyes followed hers. The handsome
little fellow was puffing out his cheeks in trying to
blow a tiny trumpet which remained dumb. His
hat hung backward by a string, and his brown curls
caught the sun-rays. He was a cherub.

The two women's eyes met again, and Gwendolen
said proudly, " I will not interfere with your wishes."
She looked as if she were shivering, and her lips
were pale.

"You are very attractive, Miss Harleth. But
when he first knew me, I too was young. Since
then my life has been broken up and embittered.
It is not fair that he should be happy and I miser-
able, and my boy thrust out of sight for another."

These words were uttered with a biting accent,
but with a determined abstinence from anything
violent in tone or manner. Gwendolen, watching
Mrs. Glasher's face while she spoke, felt a sort of
terror : it was as if some ghastly vision had come to
her in a dream and said, " I am a woman's life."

" Have you anything more to say to me ? " she
asked in a low tone, but still proudly and coldly.
The revulsion within her was not tending to soften
her. Every one seemed hateful.

2o6 DANIEL DEUONDA.

" Nothing. You know what I wished you to
know. You can inquire about me if you like. My
husband was Colonel Glasher."

" Then I will go," said Gwendolen, moving away
with a ceremonious inclination which was returned
with equal grace.

In a few minutes Gwendolen was in the beech
grove again, but her party had gone out of sight
and apparently had not sent in search of her, for all
was solitude till she had reached the avenue pointed
out by the warden. She determined to take this
way back to Green Arbour, which she reached
quickly ; rapid movements seeming to her just now
a means of suspending the thoughts which might
prevent her from behaving with due calm. She
had already made up her mind what step she would
take.

Mrs. Davilow was of course astonished to see
Gwendolen returning alone, and was not without
some uneasiness which the presence of other ladies
hindered her from showing. In answer to her words
of surprise Gwendolen said, —

" Oh, I have been rather silly. I lingered behind
to look at the Whispering Stones, and the rest
hurried on after something, so I lost sight of them.
I thought it best to come home by the short way, —
the avenue that the warden had told me of. I 'm
not sorry after all. I had had enough walking."

" Your party did not meet Mr. Grandcourt, I pre-
sume," said Mrs. Arrowpoint, not without intention.

" No," said Gwendolen, with a little flash of defi-
ance and a light laugh. "And we didn't see any
carvings on the trees either. Where can he be ?
I should think he has fallen into the pool or had
an apoplectic fit."

MEETING STREAMS. 207

With all Gwendolen's resolve not to betray any
agitation, she could not help it that her tone was
unusually high and hard, and her mother felt sure
that something unpropitious had happened.

Mrs. Arrowpoint thought that the self-confident
young lady was much piqued, and that Mr. Grand-
court was probably seeing reason to change his mind.

" If you have no objection, mamma, I will order the
carriage," said Gwendolen. " I am tired ; and
every one will be going soon."

Mrs. Davilow assented ; but by the time the car-
riage was announced as ready — the horses having
to be fetched from the stables on the warden's
premises — the roving party reappeared, and with
them Mr. Grandcourt.

" Ah, there you are ! " said Lord Brackenshaw,
going up to Gwendolen, who was arranging her
mamma's shawl for the drive. We thought at first
you had alighted on Grandcourt and he had taken
you home. Lush said so. But after that we met
Grandcourt. However, we did n't suppose you could
be in any danger. The warden said he had told you
a near way back."

" You are going ? " said Grandcourt, coming up
with his usual air, as if he did not conceive that
there had been any omission on his part. Lord
Brackenshaw gave place to hira and moved away.

" Yes, we are going," said Gwendolen, looking
busily at her scarf, which she was arranging across
her shoulders Scotch fashion.

" May I call at Olfendene to-morrow ? "

" Oh, yes, if you like," said Gwendolen, sweeping
him from a distance with her eyelashes. Her voice
was light and sharp as the first touch of frost.

Mrs. Davilow accepted his arm to lead her to the

2o8 DANIEL DERONDA.

carriage ; but while that was happening, Gwendolen
with incredible swiftness had got in advance of them,
and had sprung into the carriage.

" I got in, mamma, because I wished to be on this
side," she said apologetically. But she had avoided
Grandcourt's touch : he only lifted his hat and
walked away, — with the not unsatisfactory impres-
sion that she meant to show herself offended by his
neglect.

The mother and daughter drove for five minutes
in silence. Then Gwendolen said, " I intend to join
the X^angens at Dover, mamma. I shall pack up
immediately on getting home, and set off by the
early train. I shall be at Dover almost as soon as
they are ; we can let them know by telegraph."

" Good heavens, child ' what can be your reason
for saying so ? "

" My reason for saying it, mamma, is that I mean
to do it."

"But why do you mean to do it?"

"I wish to go away."

" Is it because you are offended with Mr. Grand-
court's odd behaviour in walking off to-day ? "
I " It is useless to enter into such questions. I am
not going in any case to marry Air. Grandcourt.
Don't interest yourself further about him."

" What can I say to your uncle, Gwendolen ?
Consider the position you place me in. You led
him to believe only last night that you had made up
your mind in favour of Mr. Grandcourt."

" I am very sorry to cause you annoyance, mamma
dear, but I can't help it," said Gwendolen, with still
harder resistance in her tone. " Whatever you or
my uncle may think or do, I shall not alter my
resolve, and I shall not tell my reason. I don't care

MEETING STREAMS. 209

what comes of it. I don't care if I never marry any-
one. There is nothing worth caring for. I believe
all men are bad, and I hate them."

"But need you set off' in this way, Gwendolen ?"
said Mrs. Davilow, miserable and helpless.

"Now, mamma, don't interfere with me. If you
have ever had any trouble in your own life, remem-
ber it and don't interfere with me. If I am to be
miserable, let it be by my own choice."

The mother was reduced to trembling silence.
She began to see that the difficulty would be lessened
if Gwendolen went away.

And she did go. The packing was all carefully
done that evening, and not long after dawn the next
day Mrs. Davilow accompanied her daughter to the
railway station. The sweet dews of morning, the
cows and horses looking over the hedges w^ithout
any particular reason, the early travellers on foot
with their bundles, seemed all very melancholy and
purposeless to them both. The dingy torpor of the
railway station, before the ticket could be taken, was
still worse. Gwendolen had certainly hardened in
the last twenty-four hours : her mother's trouble
evidently counted for little in her present state of
mind, which did not essentially differ from the mood
that makes men take to worse conduct when their
belief in persons or things is upset. Gwendolen's
uncontrolled reading, though consisting chiefly in
what are called pictures of life, had somehow not
]irepared her for this encounter with reality. Is
that surprising ? It is to be believed that attend-
ance at the opera houffe in the present day would
not leave men's minds entirely without shock, if the
manners observed there with some applause were
suddenly to start up in their own families. Perspec-

VOL. I. — 14

2IO DANIEL DERONDA.

tive, as its inventor remarked, is a beautiful thing.
What horrors of damp huts, where human beings
languish, may not become picturesque through aerial
distance ! What hymning of cancerous vices may
we not languish over as sublimest art in the safe
remoteness of a strange language and artificial
phrase ! Yet we keep a repugnance to rheumatism
and other painful effects when presented in our
personal experience.

Mrs. Davilow felt Gwendolen's new phase of
indifference keenly ; and as she drove back alone,
the brightening morning was sadder to her than
before.

Mr. Grandcourt called that day at Offendene, but
nobody was at home.

CHAPTER XV.

Festlna lente — celerity should be contempered with cunctation.
— Sir Thomas Browne.

Gwendolen, we have seen, passed her time
abroad in the new excitement of gambling, and in
imagining herself an empress of luck, having
brought from her late experience a vague impres-
sion that in this confused world it signified nothing
what any one did, so that they amused themselves.
We have seen, too, that certain persons, mysteri-
ously symbolized as Grapnell and Co., having also
thought of reigning in the realm of luck, and being
also bent on amusing themselves, no matter how,
had brought about a painful change in her family
circumstances ; whence she had returned home —
carrying with her, against her inclination, a neck-
lace which she had pawned and some one else had
redeemed.

While she was going back to England, Grand-
court was coming to find her ; coming, that is, after
his own manner, — not in haste by express straight
from Diplow to Leubronn, where she was under-
stood to be ; but so entirely without liurry that he
was induced by the presence of some Eussian ac-
quaintances to linger at Baden-Baden and make
various appointments with them, which, however,
his desire to be at Leubronn ultimately caused him
to break. Grandcourt's passions were of the inter-
mittent, flickering kind: never flaming out strongly.
But a great deal of life goes on without strong pas-

212 DANIEL DEHONDA.

sion : myriads of cravats are carefully tied, dinners
attended, even speeches made proposing the health
of august personages, without the zest arising from
a strong desire. And a man may make a good
appearance in high social positions, — may be sup-
posed to know the classics, to have his reserves on
science, a strong though repressed opinion on poli-
tics, and all the sentiments of the English gentle-
man, at a small expense of vital energy. Also, he
may be obstinate or persistent at the same low rate,
and may even show sudden impulses which have a
false air of daemonic strength because they seem in-
explicable, thougli perhaps their secret lies merely
in the want of regulated channels for the soul to
move in, — good and sufficient ducts of habit with-
out which our nature easily turns to mere ooze and
mud, and at any pressure yields nothing but a spurt
or a puddle.

Grandcourt had not been altogether displeased
by Gwendolen's running away from the splendid
chance he was holding out to her. The act had
some piquancy for him. He liked to think that it
was due to resentment of his careless behaviour in
Cardell Chase, which, when he came to consider it,
did appear rather cool. To have brought her so
near a tender admission, and then to have walked
headlong away from further opportunities of win-
ning the consent which he had made her under-
stand him to be asking for, was enough to provoke
a girl of spirit ; and to be worth his mastering it
was proper that she should have some spirit.
Doubtless she meant him to follow her, and it was
what he meant too. But for a whole week he took
no measures towards starting, and did not even
inquire where Miss Harleth was gone. Mr. Lush

MEETING STREAMS. 213

felt a triumph that was mmgled with much dis-
trust ; for Grandcourt had said no word to him
about her, and looked as neutral as an alligator :
there was no telling what might turn up in the
slowly churning chances of his mind. Still to have
put off a decision was to have made room for the
waste of Grandcourt's energy.

The guests at Diplow felt more curiosity than
their liost. How was it that nothing more was
heard of Miss Harleth ? Was it credible that she
had refused Mr. Grandcourt ? Lady Flora Hollis,
a lively middle-aged woman, well endowed with
curiosity, felt a sudden interest in making a round
of calls with Mrs. Torrington, including the Eec-
tory, Offendene, and Quetcham, and thus not only
got twice over, but also discussed with the Arrow-
points, the information that Miss Harleth was
gone to Leubronn, with some old friends, the Baron
and Baroness von Langen ; for the immediate agi-
tation and disappointment of Mrs. Davilow and
the Gascoignes had resolved itself into a wish that
Gwendolen's disappearance should not be inter-
preted as anything eccentric or needful to be kept
secret. The Eector's mind, indeed, entertained the
possibility that the marriage was only a little
deferred, for Mrs. Davilow had not dared to tell
him of the bitter determination with which Gwen-
dolen had spoken. And in spite of his practical
ability, some of his experience bad petrified into
maxims and quotations. Amarylh's fleeing desired
that her hiding-place should be known ; and that
love will find out the way " over the mountain and
over the wave " may be said without hyperbole iti
this age of steam. Gwendolen, he conceived, was
an Amaryllis of excellent sense but coquettisli

214 DANIEL DERONDA.

daring; the question was whether she had dared
too much.

Lady Flora, coming back charged with news
about Miss Harleth, saw no good reason why she
should not try whether she could electrify Mr.
Grandcourt by mentioning it to him at table ; and
in doing so shot a few hints of a notion having got
abroad that he was a disappointed adorer. Grand-
court heard with quietude, but with attention ; and
the next day he ordered Lush to bring about a
decent reason for breaking up the party at Diplow
by the end of another week, as he meant to go
yachting to the Baltic or somewhere, — it being
impossible to stay at Diplow as if he were a pris-
oner on parole, with a set of people whom he had
never wanted. Lush needed no clearer announce-
ment that Grandcourt was going to Leubronn ; but
he might go after the manner of a creeping billiard-
ball and stick on the way. What Mr. Lush in-
tended was to make himself indispensable so that
he might go too, and he succeeded ; Gwendolen's
repulsion for him being a fact that only amused his
patron, and made him none the less willing to have
Lush always at hand.

This was how it happened that Grandcourt
arrived at the Czarina on the fifth day after
Gwendolen had left Leubronn, and found there his
uncle, Sir Hugo Mallinger, with his family, includ-
ing Deronda. It is not necessarily a pleasure either
to the reigning power or the heir presumptive when
their separate affairs — a touch of gout, say, in the
one and a touch of wilfulness in the other — happen
to bring them to the same spot. Sir Hugo was an
easy-tempered man, tolerant both of differences and
defects ; but a point of view different from his own

MEETING STREAMS. 215

concerning the settlement of the family estates
fretted him rather more than if it had concerned
Church discipline or the ballot, and faults were the
less venial for belonging to a person whose existence
was inconvenient to him. IiL.np case could Grand-
court have been a nephew after his own heart ; but
as the presumptive heir to the Mallinger estates he
was the sign and embodiment of a chief grievance
in the baronet's life, — the want of a son to inherit
the lands, in no portion of which had he himself
more than a life-interest. For in the ill-advised
settlement which his father. Sir Francis, had chosen
to make by will, even Diplow with its modicum of
land had been left under the same conditions as the
ancient and wide inheritance of the two Toppings, —
Diplow, where Sir Hugo had lived and hunted
through many a season in his younger years, and
where his wife and daughters ought to have been
able ,to retire after his death.

This grievance had naturally gathered emphasis
as the years advanced, and Lady Mallinger, after
having had three daughters in quick succession,
had remained for eight years till now that she was
over forty without producing so much as another
girl ; while Sir Hugo, almost twenty years older, was
at a time of life when, notwithstanding the fashion-
able retardation of most things from dinners to
marriages, a man's hopefulness is apt to show signs
of wear, until restored by second childhood.

In fact, he had begun to despair of a son, and
this confirmation of Grandcourt's interest in the
estates certainly tended to make his image and pre-
sence the more unwelcome ; but, on the other hand,
it carried circumstances which disposed Sir Hugo
to take care that the relation between them should

2t6 DANIEL DEHONDA.

be kept as friendly as possible. It led him to dwell
on a plan which had grown up side by side with his
(disappointment of an heir ; namely, to try and
secure Diplow as a future residence for Lady Mal-
linger and her daughters, and keep this pretty bit
of the family inheritance for his own offspring in
spite of that disappointment. Such knowledge as
he had of his nephew's disposition and affairs en-
couraged the belief that Grandcourt might consent
to a transaction by which he would get a good sum
of ready money, as an equivalent for his prospective
interest in the domain of Diplow and the moderate
amount of land attached to it. If, after all, the
unhoped-for son should be born, the money would
have been thrown away, and Grandcourt would
have been paid for giving up interests that had
turned out good for nothing ; but Sir Hugo set
down this risk as nil, and of late years he had
husbanded his fortune so well by the working of
mines and the sale of leases that he was prepared
for an outlay.

Here was an object that made him careful to
avoid any quarrel with Grandcourt. Some years
before, when he was making improvements at the
Abbey, and needed Grandcourt's concurrence in his
felling an obstructive mass of timber on the de-
mesne, he had congratulated himself on finding
that there was no active spite against him in his
nephew's peculiar mind ; and nothing had since
occurred to make them hate each other more than
was compatible with perfect politeness, or with
any accommodation that could be strictly mutual.

Grandcourt, on his side, thought his uncle a
superfluity and a bore, and felt that the list of
things in general would be improved whenever Sir

MEETING STREAMS 217

Hugo came to be expunged. But he had been
made aware through Lush, always a useful medium,
of the baronet's inclinations concerning Diplow, and)
he was gratified to have the alternative of the money'
in his mind : even if he had not thought it in the least!
likely that he would choose to accept it, his sense oh
power would have been flattered by his being able to
refuse what Sir Hugo desired. The hinted trans-
action had told for something among the motives
which had made him ask for a year's tenancy of
Diplow, which it had rather annoyed Sir Hugo to
grant, because the excellent hunting in the neigh-
bourhood might decide Grandcourt not to part with
his chance of future possession ; a man who has
two places, in one of which the hunting is less
good, naturally desiring a third where it is better.
Also, Lush had thrown out to Sir Hugo the proba-
bility that Grandcourt would woo and win Miss
Arrowpoint, and in that case ready money might
be less of a temptation to him. Hence, on this un-
expected meeting at Leulnonn, the baronet felt much
curiosity to know liow things had been going on at
Diplow, was bent on being as civil as possible to his
nephew, and looked forward to some private chat
with Lush.

Between Deronda and Grandcourt there was a
more faintly marked but peculiar relation, depend-
ing on circumstances which have yet to be made
known. But on no side was there any sign of
suppressed chagrin on the first meeting at the table
d' hote, an hour after Grandcourt's arrival ; and when
the quartet of gentlemen afterwards met on the
terrace, without Lady Mallinger, they moved off
together to saunter through the rooms. Sir Hugo
saying as they entered the large saal, —

2i8 DANIEL DERONDA.

" Did you play much at Baden, Grandcourt ? "

" No ; I looked on and betted a little with some
Eussians there."

" Had you luck ? "

" What did I win, Lush ? "

"You brought away about two hundred," said
Lush.

" You are not here for the sake of the play, then ? "
said Sir Hugo.

"No; I don't care about play now. It's aeon-
founded strain," said Grandcourt, whose diamond
ring and demeanour, as he moved along playing
slightly with his whisker, were being a good deal
stared at by rouged foreigners interested in a new
milord.

" The fact is, somebody should invent a mill to do
amusements for you, my dear fellow," said Sir Hugo,
" as the Tartars get their praying done. But I agree
with you ; I never cared for play. It 's monoto-
nous, — knits the brain up into meshes. And it
knocks me up to watch it now. I suppose one
gets poisoned with the bad air. I never stay here
more than ten minutes. But where 's your gam-
bling beauty, Deronda ? Have you seen her lately?"

" She 's gone," said Deronda, curtly.

"An uncommonly fine girl, a perfect Diana," said
Sir Hugo, turning to Grandcourt again. " Eeally
worth a little straining to look at her. I saw her
winning, and she took it as coolly as if she had
known it all beforehand. The same day Deronda
happened to see her losing like wildfire, and she
bore it with immense pluck. I suppose she was
cleaned out, or was wise enough to stop in time.
How do you know she's gone?"

" Oh, by the Visitor-list," said Deronda, with a

MEETING STREAMS. 219

scarcely perceptible shrug. " Vandernoodt told me
her name was Harleth, and she was with the Baron
and Baroness von Langen. I saw by the list that
Miss Harleth was no longer there."

This held no further information for Lush than
that Gwendolen had been gambling. He had
already looked at the list, and ascertained that
Gwendolen had gone, but he had no intention of
thrusting this knowledge on Grandcourt before he
asked for it; and he had not asked, finding it
enough to believe tlat the object of search would
turn up somewhere or other.

But now Grandcourt had heard what was rather
piquant, and not a word about Miss Harleth had
been missed by him. After a moment's pause he
said to Deronda, —

" Do you know those people, — the Langens ? "

" I have talked with them a little since Miss
Harleth went away. I knew nothing of them
before."

" Where is she gone — ■ do you know ? "

" She is gone home," said Deronda, coldly, as if
he wished to say no more. But then, from a fresh
impulse, he turned to look markedly at Grandcourt,
and added, " But it is possible you know her. Her
home is not far from Diplow: Offendene, near Wan-
chester."

Deronda, turning to look straight at Grandcourt,
who was on his left hand, might have been a sub-
ject for those old painters who liked contrasts of
temperament. There was a calm intensity of life
and richness of tint in his face that on a sudden
gaze from him was rather startling, and often made
him seem to have spoken, so that servants and offi-
cials asked him automatically, " What did you say

220 DANIEL DERONDA.

sir?" when he had been quite silent. Grandcourt
himself felt an irritation, which he did not show
except by a slight movement of the eyelids, at
Deronda's turning round on him when he was not
asked to do more than speak. But he answered,
with his usual drawl, "Yes, T know her," and
paused with his shoulder towards Deronda, to look
at the gambling.

" What of her, eh ? " asked Sir Hugo of Lush, as
the three moved on a little way. " She must be
a new-comer at Oifendene. Old Blenny lived there
after the dowager died."

" A little too much of her," said Lush, in a low,
significant tone ; not sorry to let Sir Hugo know
the state of affairs.

" Why ? how ? " said the baronet. They all moved
out of the salo7i into a more airy promenade.

"He has been on the brink of marrying her,"
Lush went on. "But I hope it's off now. She's
a niece of the clergyman — Gascoigne — at Penni-
cote. Her mother is a widow with a brood of
daughters. This girl will have nothing, and is as
dangerous as gunpowder. It would be a foolish
marriage. But she has taken a freak against him,
for she ran off here without notice, when he had
agreed to call the next day. The fact is, he 's here
after her; but he was in no great hurry, and be-
tween his caprice and hers they are likely enough
not to get together again. But of course he has
lost his chance with the heiress."

Grandcourt joining them said, "What a beastly
den this is ! — a worse hole than Baden. I shall go
back to the hotel."

When Sir Hugo and Deronda were alone, the
baronet began, —

MEETING STREAMS. 221

" Rather a pretty story. That girl has something
in her. She must be worth running after, — has de
Vimprevu. I think her appearance on the scene
has bettered my chance of getting Diplow, whether
the marriage comes off or not."

" I should hope a marriage like that would not
come off," said Deronda, in a tone of disgust.

" What ! are you a little touched with the sub-
lime lash ? " said Sir Hugo, putting up his glasses
to help his short sight in looking at his companion.
" Are you inclined to run after her ? "

" On the contrary," said Deronda, " I should rather
be inclined to run away from her."

" Why, you would easily^ cut out Grandcourt. A
girl with her spirit would think you the finer match
of the two," said Sir Hugo, who often tried Deronda's
patience by finding a joke in impossible advice. (A
difference of taste in jokes is a great strain on the
affections.)

" I suppose pedigree and land belong to a fine
match," said Deronda, coldly.

''^ The best horse will win in spite of pedigree,
my boy. You remember Napoleon's mot, — Je suis
wnTanc^re" said Sir Hugo, who habitually under-"
valued birth, as men after dining well often agree
that the good of life is distributed with wonderful
equality.

" I am not sure that I want to be an ancestor,"
said Deronda. " It does n't seem to me the rarest
sort of origination."

" You won't run after the pretty gambler, then ? "
said Sir Hugo, putting down his glasses.

" Decidedly not."

This answer was perfectly truthful ; nevertheless
it had passed through Deronda's mind that under

222 DANIEL DERONDA.

other circumstances he should have given way to
the interest this girl had raised in him, and tried
to know more of her. But his history had given
him a stronger bias in another direction. He felt
himself in no sense free.

CHAPTEE XVI.

" Men, like plauets, have both a visible and an invisible history.
The astronomer threads the darkness with strict deduction, ac-
counting so for every visible arc in the wanderer's orbit ; and the
narrator of human actions, if he did his work with the same com-
pleteness, would liave to thread the hidden pathways of feeling and
thought which lead up to every moment of action, and to those
moments of intense suffering which take the quality of action, — •
like the cry of Prometheus, whose chained anguish seems a greater
energy than the sea and sky he invokes and the deity he defies." |

Deronda's circumstances, indeed, had been excep-
tional. One moment had been burnt into his life
as its chief epoch, — a moment full of July sunshine
ancT large pink roses shedding their last petals on
a grassy court enclosed on three sides by a Gothic
cloister. Imagine him in such a scene : a boy of
thirteen, stretched prone on the grass where it was
in shadow, his curly head propped on his arms over
a book, while his tutor, also reading, sat on a camp-
stool under shelter. Deronda's book was Sismondi's
History of the Italian Eepublics : the lad had a
passion for history, eager to know how time had
been filled up since the Flood, and how things were
carried on in the dull periods. Suddenly he let down
his left arm and looked at his tutor, saying in purest
boyish tones, —

" Mr. Fraser, how was it that the popes and car-
dinals always had so many nephews ? "

The tutor, an able young Scotchman who acted
as Sir Hugo Mallinger's secretary, roused rather

224 DANIEL DERONDA.

unwillingly from his political economy, answered
with the clear-cut, emphatic chant which makes a
truth doubly telling in Scotch utterance, —

" Their own children were called nephews."

" Why ? " said Deronda.
1 " It was just for the propriety of the thing ;
because, as you know very well, priests don't marry,
and the children were illegitimate."

Mr. Fraser, thrusting out his lower lip and making
his chant of the last word the more emphatic for a
little impatience at being interrupted, had already
turned his eyes on his book again, while Deronda,
as if something had stung him, started up in a
Slitting attitude with his back to the tutor.

He had always called Sir Hugo Mallinger his
lincle, and when it once occurred to him to ask
^bout his father and mother, the baronet had
answered, " You lost your father and mother when
you were quite a little one ; tliat is why I take
care of you." Daniel, then straining to discern
something in that early twilight, had a dim sense
of having been kissed very much, and surrounded
by thin, cloudy, scented drapery, till his fingers
caught in something hard, which hurt him, and
he began to cry. Every other memory he had was
of the little world in which he still lived. And at
that time he did not mind about learning more,
for he was too fond of Sir Hugo to be sorry for
the loss of unknown parents. Life was very delight-
ful to the lad, with an uncle who was always indul-
gent and cheerful, — a fine man in the bright noon
of life, whom Daniel thought absolutely perfect,
and whose place was one of the finest in England,
at once historical, romantic, and home-like : a pictu-
resque architectural outgrowth from an abbey, which

Deronda meets Miraii on the Banks of the Thames.

MEETING STREAMS. 225

had still remnants of the old monastic trunk. Dip-
low lay in another county, and was a comparatively
landless place which had come into the family from
a rich lawyer on the female side who wore the per-
ruque of the Eestoration ; whereas the Mai lingers
had the grant of Monk's Topping, under Henry the
Eighth, and ages before had held the neighbouring
lands of King's Topping, tracing indeed their origin
to a certain Hugues le Malingre, who came in with
the Conqueror, — and also apparently with a sickly
complexion which had been happily corrected in his
descendants. Two rows of these descendants., direct
and collateral, females of the male line, and males
of the female, looked down in the gallery over the
cloisters on the nephew Daniel as he walked there ;
men in armour with pointed beards and arched eye-
brows, pinched ladies in hoops and ruffs with no
face to speak of ; grave-looking men in black velvet
and stuffed hips, and fair, frightened women hold-
ing little boys by the hand ; smiling politicians in
magnificent perruques, and ladies of the prize-
animal kind, with rose-bud mouths and full eyelids,
according to Lely ; then a generation whose faces
were revised and embellished in the taste of Knel-
ler ; and so on through refined editions of the
family types in the time of Eeynolds and Eomney,
till the line ended with Sir Hugo and his younger
brother Henleigh. This last had married Miss Cirand-
court, and taken her name along" with her estates,
thus making a junction between two equally old
families, impaling the three Saracens' heads proper
and three bezants of the one with the tower and
falcons argent of the other, and, as it happened,
uniting their highest advantages in the prospects of
that Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt who is at present

VOL. I. — 15

226 DANIEL DERONDA.

more of an acquaintance to us tliau either Sir Hugo
or his nephew Daniel Deronda.

In Sir Hugo's youthful portrait with rolled collar
and high cravat, Sir Thomas Lawrence had done
justice to the agreeable alacrity of expression and
sanguine temperament still to be seen in the original,
but had done something more than justice in slightly
lengthening the nose, which was in reality shorter
than might have been expected in a Mallinger.
Happily the appropriate nose of the family reap-
peared in his younger brother, and was to be seen
in all its refined regularity in his nephew Mallinger
( Jrandcourt. But in the nephew Daniel Deronda the
family faces of various types, seen on the walls of
the gallery, found no reflex. Still he was handsomer
than any of them, and when he was thirteen might
have served as model for any painter who wanted
to image the most memorable of boys : you could
hardly have seen his face thoroughly meeting yours
without believing that human creatures had done
nobly in times past, and might do more nobly in
time to come. The finest childlike faces have this
consecrating power, and make us shudder anew at
all the grossness and basely wrought griefs of the
world, lest they should enter here and defile.

But at this moment on the grass among the rose-
petals, Daniel Deronda was making a first acquaint-
ance with those griefs. A new idea had entered
his mind, and was beginning to change the aspect
of his habitual feelings as happy careless voyagers
are changed when the sky suddenly threatens and the
thought of danger arises. He sat perfectly still with
his back to the tutor, while his face expressed rapid
inward transition. The deep blush, which had come
when he first started up, gradually subsided; but

MEETING STREAMS. 227

his features kept that indescribable look of subdued
activity which often accompanies a new mental sur-
vey of familiar facts. He had not lived with other
boys, and his mind showed the same blending of
child's ignorance with surprising knowledge which
is oftener seen in bright girls. Having read Shake-
speare as well as a great deal of history, he could
have talked with the wisdom of a bookish child;
about men who were born out of wedlock and were
held unfortunate in consequence, being under dis-
advantages which required them to be a sort of
heroes if they were to work themselves up to an
equal standing with their legally born brothers.
But he had never brought such knowledge into any
association with his own lot, which had been too
easy for him ever to think about it, — until this
moment when there had darted into his mind, with
the magic of quick comparison, the possibility that
here was the secret of his own birth, and that the
man whom he called uncle was really his father.
Some children, even younger than Daniel, have
known the first arrival of care, like an ominous
irremovable guest in their tender lives, on the dis-
covery that their parents, whom they had imagined
able to buy everything, were poor and in hard money
troubles. Daniel felt the presence of a new guest
who seemed to come with an enigmatic veiled face,
and to carry dimly conjectured, dreaded revelations.
The ardour which he had given to the imaginary
world in his books suddenly rushed towards his
own history and spent its pictorial energy there,
explaining what he knew, representing the un-
known. The uncle whom he loved very dearly
took the aspect of a father who lield secrets about
him, — who had done him a wrong, — yes, a wrong ;

228 DANIEL DERONDA.

and what had become of his mother, from whom he
must have been taken away ? — Secrets about which
he, Daniel, could never inquire ; for to speak or be
spoken to about these new thoughts seemed like
falling flakes of fire to his imagination. Those who
have known an impassioned childhood will under-
stand this dread of utterance about any shame con-
nected with their parents. The impetuous advent
of new images took possession of him with the force
of fact for the first time told, and left him no imme-
diate power for the reflection that he might be trem-
bling at a fiction of his own. The terrible sense of
collision between a strong rush of feeling and the
dread of its betrayal found relief at length in big
slow tears, which fell without restraint until the
voice of Mr. Fraser was heard saying, —

"Daniel, do you see that you are sitting on the
bent pages of your book ? "

Daniel immediately moved the book without turn-
ing round, and after holding it before him for an
instant, rose with it and walked away into the open
grounds, where he could dry his tears unobserved.
The first shock of suggestion past, he could remem-
ber that he had no certainty how things really had
been, and that he had been making conjectures about
his own history, as he had often made stories about
Pericles or Columbus, just to fill up the blanks be-
fore they became famous. Only there came back
certain facts which had an obstinate reality, — al-
most like the fragments of a bridge, telling you
unmistakably how the arches lay. And again there
came a mood in which his conjectures seemed like
a doubt of religion, to be banished as an offence, and
a mean prying after what he was not meant to know ;
for there was hardly a delicacy of feeling this lad

MEETING STREAMS. 229

was not capable of. But the summing up of all his
fluctuating "experience at this epoch was, that a
secret impression had come to him which had given
him something like a new sense in relation to all
the elements of his life. And the idea that others
probably knew things concerning him which they
did not choose to mention, and which he would not
have had them mention, set up in him a premature
reserve which helped to intensify his inward experi-
ence. His ears were open now to words which
before that July day would have passed by him
unnoted ; and round every trivial incident which
imagination could connect with his suspicions, a
newly roused set of feelings were ready to cluster
themselves.

One such incident a month later wrought itself
deeply into his life. Daniel had not only one of
those thrilling boy voices which seem to bring an
idyllic heaven and earth before our eyes, but a fine
musical instinct, and had early made out accompani-
ments for himself on the piano, while he sang from
memory. Since then he had had some teaching ; and
Sir Hugo, who delighted in the boy, used to ask for
his music in the presence of guests. One morning
after he had been singing " Sweet Echo " before a
small party of gentlemen whom the rain had kept in
the house, the baronet, passing from a smiling re-
mark to his next neighbour, said, —

" Come here, Dan !"

The boy came forward with unusual reluctance.
He wore an embroidered holland blouse which set
off the rich colouring of his head and throat ; and
the resistant gravity about his mouth and eyes as
he was being smiled upon, made their beauty the
more impressive. Every one was admiring him.

230 DANIEL DERONDA.

X" " What do you say to being a great singer ?
Should you like to be adored by the world and take
the house by storm, like Mario and Tamberlik ?"

Daniel reddened instantaneously, but there was
a just perceptible interval before he answered with
< c angry decision, —
*^;t.';"'' ' ^ " No ; I should hate it ! "

" Well, well, well ! " said Sir Hugo, with sur-
prised kindliness intended to be soothing. But
Daniel turned away quickly, left the room, and
going to his own chamber threw himself on the
broad window-sill, which was a favourite retreat
of his when he had nothing particular to do. Here
he could see the rain gradually subsiding with gleams
through the parting clouds which lit up a great
reach of the park, where tiie old oaks stood apart
from each other, and the bordering wood was pierced
with a green glade which met the eastern sky.
This was a scene which had always been part of
his home, — part of the dignified ease which had
been a matter of course in his life. And his ardent
clinging nature had appropriated it all with affection.
He knew a great deal of what it was to be a gentle-
man by inheritance, and without thinking much
about himself, — for he was a boy of active per-
ceptions and easily forgot his own existence in that of
Eobert Bruce, — he had never supposed that he could
be shut out from such a lot, or have a very different
part in the world from that of the uncle who petted
him. It is possible (though not greatly believed
in at present) to be fond of poverty and take it for
a bride, to prefer scoured deal, red quarries, and
whitewash for one's private surroundings, to delight
in no splendour but what lias open doors for the
whole nation, and to glory in having no privilege

MEETING STREAMS. 231

except such as nature insists on ; and noblemen
have been known to run away from elaborate ease
and the option of idleness, that they might bind
themselves for small pay to hard-handed labour.
But Daniel's tastes were altugether in keeping with
his nurture : his disposition was one in which every-
day scenes and habits beget not ennui or rebellion,
but delight, affection, aptitudes ; and now the lad
had been stung to the quick by the idea that his
uncle — perhaps his father — thought of a career
for him which was totally unlike his own, and
which he knew very well was not thought of among
possible destinations for the sons of English gentle-
men. He had often stayed in London with Sir
Hugo, who to indulge the boy's ear had carried him
to the opera to hear the great tenors, so that the
image of a singer taking the house by storm was
very vivid to him ; but now, spite of his musical
gift, he set himself bitterly against the notion of
being dressed up to sing before all those fine people
who would not care about him except as a wonder-
ful toy. That Sir Hugo should have thought of him
in that position for a moment, seemed to Daniel an
unmistakable proof that there was something about
his birth which threw him out from the class of
gentlemen to which the baronet belonged. Would
it ever be mentioned to him ? Would the time
come when his uncle would tell him everything ?
He shrank from the prospect; in his imagination
he preferred ignorance. If his father had been
wicked, — Daniel inwardly used strong words, for
he was feeling the injury done him as a maimed boy
feels the crushed limb which for others is merely
reckoned in an average of accidents, — if his father
had done any wrong, he wished it might never be

232 DANIEL DERONDA.

spoken of to liim : it was already a cutting thought
that such knowledge might he in other minds.
Was it in Mr. Eraser's ? Pvobahly not, else he would
not have spoken in that way about the pope's
nephews ? Daniel fancied, as older people do, that
every one else's consciousness was as active as his
own on a matter which was vital to him. Did Tur-
vey the valet know? — and old Mrs. French the
housekeeper ? — and Banks the bailiff, with whom
he had ridden about the farms on his pony? And
now there came back the recollection of a day some
years before when he was drinking Mrs. Banks's
whey, and Banks said to his wife with a wink and
X. a cunning laughj "He features the mother, eh?"
At that time little Daniel had merely thought that
Banks made a silly face, as the common farming
men often did, — laughing at what was not laugh-
able ; and he rather resented being winked at and
talked of as if he did not understand everything.
But now that small incident became information :
it was to be reasoned on. How could he be like
his mother and not like his father ? His mother
must have been a Mallinger, if Sir Hugo were his
uncle. But no ! His father might have been Sir
Hugo's brother and have changed his name, as Mr.
Henleigh Mallinger did when he married Miss
Grandcourt. But then why had he never heard Sir
Hugo speak of his brother Deronda, as he spoke of
his brother Grandcourt? Daniel had never before
cared about the family tree, — only about that ances-
tor who had killed three Saracens in one encounter.
But now his mind turned to a cabinet of estate-
maps in the library, where he had once seen an illu-
minated parchment hanging out, that Sir Hugo said
was the family tree. The phrase was new and odd

MEETING STREAMS. 233

to Iiira, — he was a little fellow then, hardly more
than half his present age, — and he gave it no pre-
cise meaning. He knew more now, and wished that
he could examine that parchment. He imagined
that the cabinet was always locked, and longed to
try it. But here he checked himself. He might
be seen ; and he would never bring himself near
even a silent admission of the sore that had opened
in him.

It is in such experiences of boy or girlhood, while
elders are debating whether most education lies in
science or literature, that the main lines of charac-
ter are often laid down. If Daniel had been of a
less ardently affectionate nature, the reserve about
himself and the supposition that others had some-
thing to his disadvantage in their minds, might have
turned into a hard, proud antagonism. But inborn
lovingness was strong enough to keep itself level
with resentment. There was hardly any creature
in his habitual world that he was not fond of ; teas-
ing them occasionally, of course, — all except his
uncle, or " Nunc," as Sir Hugo had taught him to
say ; for the baronet was the reverse of a straight-
laced man, and left his dignity to take care of
itself. Him Daniel loved in that deep-rooted filial
way which makes children always the happier for
being in the same room with father or mother,
though their occupations may be quite apart. Sir
Hugo's watch-chain and seals, his handwriting, his
mode of smoking and of talking to his dogs and
horses, had all a rightness and charm about them to
the boy which went along with the happiness of
morning and breakfast-time. That Sir Hugo had
always been a Whig, made Tories and Eadicals
equally opponents of the truest and best ; and the

234 DANIEL DERONDA.

books he had written were all seen under the same
consecration of loving belief which differenced what
was his from what was not his, in spite of general
resemblance. Those writings were various, from
volumes of travel in the brilliant style, to articles
on things in general, and pamphlets on j)olitical
crises ; but to Daniel they were alike in having an
unquestionable rightness by which other people's
information could be tested.

Who cannot imagine the bitterness of a first sus-
picion that something in this object of complete
love was not quite right ? Children demand that
their heroes should be fieckless, and easily believe
them so : perhaps a first discovery to the contrary
is hardly a less revolutionary shock to a passionate
child than the threatened downfall of habitual
beliefs which makes the world seem to totter for us
in maturer life.

But some time after this renewal of Daniel's agi-
tation it appeared that Sir Hugo must have been
making a merely playful experiment in his question
about the singing. He sent for Daniel into the
library, and looking up from his writing as the boy
entered, threw himself sideways in his arm-chair.
" Ah, Dan ! " he said kindly, drawing one of the old
embroidered stools close to him. " Come and sit
down here."

Daniel obeyed, and Sir Hugo put a gentle hand
on his shoulder, looking at him affectionately.

" What is it, my boy ? Have you heard anything
that has put you out of spirits lately ? "

Daniel was determined not to let the tears come,
but he could not speak.

"All changes are painful when people have been
happy, you know," said Sir Hugo, lifting his liand

MEETING STREAMS. 235

from the boy's shouklor to In's dark curls and rub-
Ling them gently. " You can't be educated exactly
as I_wish you to be without our parting. And I
think you will find a great deal to like at school."

This was not what Daniel expected, and w^as so
far a relief, which gave him spirit to answer, —

"Am I to go to sclippj ?"

" Yes, T rfiean you to go to Eton. I wish you to
have the education of an English gentleman ; and
for that it is necessary that you should go to a pub-
lic school in preparation for the university : Cambridge
I mean you to go to; it was my own university,"

Daniel's colour came and went.

"What do you say, sirrah?" said Sir Hugo,
smiling.

" I should like to be a gentleman," said Daniel,
with firm distinctness, "and go to school, if that is
what a gentleman's son must do."

Sir Hugo watched him silently for a few moments,
thinking he understood now why the lad had
seemed angry at the notion of becoming a singer.
Then he said tenderly, — ■

" And so you won't mind about leaving your old
Nunc ? "

"Yes, I shall," said Daniel, clasping Sir Hugo's
caressing arm with both his hands. " But slia'n't I
come home and be with you in the holidays ? "

" Oh, yes, generally," said Sir Hugo. " But now
T mean you to go at once to a new tutor, to break
the change for you before you go to Eton."

After this interview Daniel's spirit rose again.
He was meant to be a gentleman, and in some
unaccountable way it might be that his conjectures
were all wrong. The very keenness of the lad
taught him to find comfort in his ignorance. While

236 DANIEL DERONDA.

he was busying his mind in the construction of pos-
sibilities, it became plain to him that there must be
possibilities of which he knew nothing. He left off
brooding, young joy and the spirit of adventure not
being easily quenched within him, and in the inter-
val before his going away he sang about the house,
danced among the old servants, making them part-
ing gifts, and insisted many times to the groom on
the care that was to be taken of the black pony.

" Do you think I shall know much less than the
other boys, Mr. Fraser ? " said Daniel. It was his
bent to think that every stranger would be surprised
at his ignorance.

" There are dunces to be found everywhere," said
the judicious Fraser. "You'll not be the biggest;
but you 've not the makings of a Person in you, or
a Leibnitz either."

" I don't want to be a Person or a Leibnitz," said
Daniel. " I would rather be a great leader, like
Peiicles or Washington."

" Ay, ay ; you 've a notion they did with little
parsing and less algebra," said Fraser. But in
reality he thought his pupil a remarkable lad, to
whom one thing was as easy as another if he had only
a mind to it.

Things went very well with Daniel in his new
world, except ..that a boy with whom he was at once
inclined to strike up a close friendship talked to
liim a great deal about his home and parents, and
seemed to expect a like expansiveness in return.
Daniel immediately shrank into reserve, and this
experience remained a check on his naturally strong
bent towards the formation of intimate friend-
ships. Every one, his tutor included, set him
down as a reserved bov, though he was so good-

MEETING STREA.MS. 237

humoured and unassuming, as well as quick botli
at study and sport, that nobody called his reserve
disagreeable. Certainly his face had a great deal to
do with that favourable interpretation ; but in this
instance the beauty of the closed lips told no
falsehood.

A surprise that came to him before his first
vacation strengthened the silent consciousness of a
grief within, which might be compared in some
ways with Byron's susceptibility about his deformed
foot. Sir Hugo wrote word that he was married to
Miss Raymond, a sweet lady whom Daniel must
remember having seen. The event would make no
difference about his spending the vacation at the
Abbey ; he would find Lady Mallinger a new friend
whom he would be sure to love, — and much more
to the usual effect when a man, having done some-
thing agreeable to himself, is disposed to congratu-
late others on his own good fortune, and the deducible
satisfactoriness of events in general.

Let Sir Hugo be partly excused until the grounds
of his action can be more fully known. The mis-
takes in his behaviour to Deronda were due to that
dulness towards what may be going on in other
minds, especially the minds of children, which is
among the commonest deficiencies even in good-na-
tured men like him, when life has been generally
easy to themselves, and their energies have been
quietly spent in feeling gratified. No one was
better aware„jtbaii lie that Daniel was generally sus-
pected tobe his own. son. But he was pleased with
that suspicion ; and his imagination had never once
been troubled with the way in which the boy him-
self might be affected, either then or in the future,
by the enigmatic aspect of his circumstances. He

238 DANIEL DERONDA.

was as fond of him as could be, and meant the best
by him. And considering the lightness with which
the preparation of young lives seems to lie on
respectable consciences, Sir Hugo Mallinger can
hardly be held open to exceptional reproach. He
had been a bachelor till he was five-and-forty, had
always been regarded as a fascinating man of ele-
gant tastes ; what could be more natuial, even
according to the index of language, than that he
should have a beautiful boy like the little Deronda
,to take care of ? The mother might even perhaps
'be in the great world, — met with in Sir Hugo's
residences abroad. The only person to fet-l any ub-
\ jection was the boy himself, who could not have
"^heen consulted. And the boy's objections had never
been dreamed of by anybody but himself.

By the time Deronda was ready to go to Cam-
bridge, Lady Mallinger had already three daughters,
— charming babies, all three, but whose sex was
announced as a melancholy alternative, the offspring
desired being a son : if Sir Hugo had no son, the
succession must go to his nephew T^Iallinger Grand-
court. Daniel no longer held a wavering opinion
about his own birth. His fuller knowledge had
tended to convince him that Sir Hugo was his
father ; and he conceived that the baronet, since he
never approached a comuiunication on the subject,
wished him to have a tacit understanding of the fact,
and to accept in silence what would be generally
considered more than the due love and nurture. Sir
Hugo's marriage might certainly have been felt as a
new ground of resentment by some youths in Deron-
da's position, and the timid Lady Mallinger with
her fast-coming little ones might liave been images
to scowl at, as likely to divert much that was dis-

MEETING STREAMS. 239

posable in the feelings and possessions of the
baronet from one who felt his own claim to be prior.
But hatred of innocent human obstacles was a form
of moral stupidity not in Deronda's grain ; even the
indignation which liad long mingled itself with his
affection for Sir Hugo took the quality of pain
rather than of temper ; and as his mind ripened to
the idea of tolerance towards error, he habitually
linked the idea with his own silent grievances.

The sense of an entailed disadvantage — the de-
formed foot doubtfully hidden by the shoe — makes
a restlessly active spiritual yeast, and easily turns
a self-centred, unloving nature into an Ishmaelite.
But in the rarer sort, who presently see their own
frustrated claim as one among a myriad, the inex-
orable sorrow takes the form of fellowship, and
makes the imagination tender. Deronda's early-
wakened susceptibility, charged at first with ready
indignation and resistant pride, had raised in him a
premature reflection on certain questions of life ; it
had given a bias to his conscience, a sympathy with
certain ills, and a tension of resolve in certain direc-
tions, which marked him off from other youths
much more than any talents he possessed.

One day near the end of the Long Vacation, when
he had been making a tour in the Ehineland with
his Eton tutor, and was come for a farewell stay at
the Abbey before going to Cambridge, he said to Sir
Hugo, —

" What do you intend me to be, sir ? " They were
in the'TTb'faryVandTt was the fresh morning. Sir
Hugo had called him in to read a letter from a
Cambridge Don who was to be interested in him '
and since the baronet wore an air at once business-
like and leisurely, the moment seemed propitious

240 DANIEL DERONDA.

for entering on a grave subject which had never
yet been thoroughly discussed.

" Whatever your inclination leads you to, my boy.
I thought it right to give you the option of the
army, but you shut the door on that, and I was
glad. I don't expect you to choose just yet, — by and
by, when you have looked about you a little more
and tried your mettle among older men. The
university has a good wide opening into the forum.
There are prizes to be won, and a bit of good fortune
often gives the turn to a man's taste. From what I
see and hear, I should think you can take up any-

'thing you like. You are in deeper water with your
classics than I ever got into, and if you are rather
sick of that swimming, Cambridge is the place

"where you can go into mathematics with a will, and
disport yourself on the dry sand as much as you
like. I floundered along like a carp."

"I suppose money will make some difference, sir,"
said Daniel, blushing. " I shall have to keep myself
by and by."

" Not exactly. I recommend you not to be
extravagant, — -yes, yes, I know, — you are not in-
clined to "that; but you need not take up any-
thing against the grain. You will have a bachelor's
income, — enough for you to look about with. Per-
haps I had better tell you that you may consider

•yourself secure of ^even hundred a year. You
might make yourself a barrister, — be a writer,—
take up politics. I confess that is what would

, please me best. I should like to have you at my

' elbow and pulling with me."

Deronda looked embarrassed. He felt that he
ought to make some sign of grntitude, but other
feelings clogged his tongue. A moment was pass-

MEETING STREAMS. 241

ing by in which a question about liis birth was
throbbing within him, and yet it seemed more
impossible than ever that the question should find
ventr— more impossible than ever that he could
hear certain things from Sir Hugo's lips. The
liberal way in which he was dealt with was the
more striking because the baronet had of late cared
particularly for money, and for making the utmost
of his life-interest in the estate by way of provid-
ing for his daughters ; and as all this Hashed
through Daniel's mind, it was momentarily within
his imagination that the provision for him might
come in some way from his mother. But such
vaporous conjecture passed away as quickly as it
came.

Sir Hugo appeared not to notice anything peculiar
in Daniel's manner, and presently went on with his
usual chatty liveliness.

" I am glad you have done some good reading out-
side your classics, and have got a grip of French and
German. The truth is, unless a man can get the
prestige and income of a Don and write donnish
books, it 's hardly worth while for him to make a
Greek and Latin machine of himself, and be able to
spin you out pages of the Greek dramatists at any
verse you'll give him as a cue. That's all very
fine, but in practical life nobody does give you the
cue for pages of Greek. In fact, it 's a nicety of
conversation which I would have you attend to, —
much quotation of any sort, even in English, is
bad. It tends to choke ordinary remark. One
could n't carry on life comfortably without a little
blindness to the fact that everything has been said>
better than we can put it ourselves. I'ut talking of
Dons, T liave seen Dons make a capital figure in

VOL. I. — 16

242 DANIEL DERONDA.

society; and occasionally tliey can shoot you down a
cartload of learning in the right place, which will tell
in politics. Such men are wanted ; and if you have
any turn for being a Don, I say nothing against it."

"I think there's not much chance of that.
Quicksett and Puller are much stronger than I
am. I hope you will not be much disappointed if
I don't come out with high honours."

'■ No, no. I should like you to do yourself credit,
but for God's sake don't come out as a superior
expensive kind of idiot, like young Brecon, who
got a Double First, and has been learning to knit
braces ever since. What I wish you to get is a
passport in life. I don't go against our university
system : we want a little disinterested culture to
make head against cotton and capital, especially in
the House. My Greek has all evaporated: if I had
to construe a verse on a sudden, I should get an
apoplectic fit. But it formed my taste. I dare say
my English is the better for it."

On tliis point Daniel kept a respectful silence.
The enthusiastic belief in Sir Hugo's writings as a
standard, and in the Whigs as the chosen race
among politicians, had gradually vanished along
with the seraphic boy's face. He had not been the
hardest of workers at Eton. Though some kinds
of study and reading came as easily as boating to
him, he was not of the material that usually makes
the first-rate Eton scholar. There had sprung up in
him a meditative yearning after wide knowdedge
which is likely always to abate ardour in the fight for
prize acquirement in narrow tracks. Happily he
was modest, and took any second-rateness in him-
self simply as a fact, not as a marvel necessarily
, to be accounted for by a superiority. Still Mr.

MEETING STREAMS. 243

Fraser's high opinion of the lad had not been
altogether belied by the youth : Daniel had the
stamp of rarity in a subdued fervour of sympathy,
an activity of imagination on behalf of others,
which did not show itself efl'usively, but was con-
tinually seen in acts of considerateness that struck
his companions as moral eccentricity. " Deronda
would have been first-rate if he had had more
ambition " — was a frequent remark about him.
But how could a fellow push his way properly
when he objected to swop for his own advantage,
knocked under by choice when he was within an
inch of victory, and, unlike the great Clive, would
rather be the calf than the butcher ? It was a
mistake, however, to suppose that Deronda had not
his share of ambition : we know he had suffered
keenly from the belief that tliere was a tinge of
dishonour in his lot; but there are some cases, and
his was one of them, in which the sense of injury
breeds — not the will to inflict injuries and climb
over them as a ladder, but — a hatred of all injury.
He had his flashes of fierceness, and could hit out
upon occasion ; but the occasions were not always
what might have been expected. For in what
related to himself his resentful impulses had been
early checked by a mastering atiectionateuess. Love
has a habit of saying " Never mind " to angry self,
who, sitting down for the nonce in the lower
place, by and by gets used to it. So it was that
as Deronda approached manhood his feeling for
Sir Hugo, while it was getting more and more
mixed with criticism, was gaining in tliat sort of
allowance which reconciles criticism with tender-
ness. The dear old beautiful home and everything
within it. Lady Mallinger and her little ones in-

244 DANIEL DERONDA.

eluded, were consecrated for the youth as they
had been for the boy, — only with a certain dif-
ference of light on the objects. The altar-piece
was no longer miraculously perfect, painted under
infallible guidance, but the human hand discerned
in the work was appealing to a reverent tender-
ness safer from the gusts of discovery. Certainly
Deronda's ambition, even in his spring-time, lay
exceptionally aloof from conspicuous, vulgar tri-
umph, and from other ugly forms of boyish
energy ; perhaps because he was early impassioned
by ideas, and burned his fire on those heights.
One may spend a good deal of energy in disliking
and resisting what others pursue ; and a boy who is
fond of somebody else's pencil-case may not be
more energetic than another who is fond of giving
his own pencil-case away. Still, it was not De-
ronda's disposition to escape from ugly scenes : he
was more inclined to sit through them and take
care of the fellow least able to take care of him-
self. It had helped to make him popular that he
w-as sometimes a little compromised by this apparent
comradeship. For a meditative interest in learning
how human miseries are wrought — as precocious in
him as another sort of genius in the poet who writes
a Queen Mab at nineteen — was so infused with
kindliness that it easily passed for comradeship.
Enough. In many of our neighbours' lives there
is much not only of error and lapse, but of a certain
exquisite goodness which can never be written or
even spoken, — only divined by each of us, according
to the inward instruction of our own privacy.

The impression he made at Cambridge corre-
sponded to his position at Eton. Every one
interested in him agreed tiiat he might have taken

MEETING STREAMS. 245

a high place if his motives had been of a more
pushing sort, and if he had not, instead of regard-
ing studies as instruments of success, hampered
himself with the notion that they were to feed
motive and opinion, — a notion which set him
criticising methods and arguing against his freight
and harness when he should have been using all
his might to pull. In the beginning his work at
the university had a new zest for him : indifferent
to the continuation of the Eton classical drill, he
applied himself vigorously to mathematics, for
which he had shown an early aptitude under Mr.
Fraser, and he had the delight of feeling his
strength in a comparatively fresh exercise of
thought. That delight, and the favourable opinion
of his tutor, determined him to try for a mathemat-
ical scholarship in the Easter of his second year :
he wished to gratify Sir Hugo by some achieve-
ment, and the study of the high^ rojathematics,
having the growing fascination inherent in all
thinking which demands intensity, was making him
a more exclusive worker than lie had been before.

But here came the old check which had been
growing with his growth. He found the inward
bent towards comprehension and thoroughness di-
vergins more and more from the track marked out
by the standards of examination : he felt a height-
ening discontent with the wearing futility and
enfeebling strain of a demand for excessive reten-
tion and dexterity without any insight into the
principles which form the vital connections oi
knowledge. (Deronda's undergraduateship occurred '
fifteen years ago, when the perfection of our uni-
versity methods was not yet indisputable.) In
hours when his dissatisfaction was strong upon him

246 DANIEL DERONDA.

lie reproached himself for having been attracted by
the conventional advantage of belonging to an
English university, and was tempted towards the
project of asking Sir Hugo to let him quit Cam-
bridge and pursue a more independent line of
study abroad. The germs of this inclination had
lieen already stirring in his boyish love of universal
liistory, which made him want to be at home in
foreign countries, and follow in imagination the
travelling students of the middle ages. He longed
now to have the sort of apprenticeship to life which
would not shape him too definitely, and rob him of
the choice that might come from a free growth.
One sees that Deronda's demerits were likely to be
on the side of reflective hesitation, and this tendency
was encouraged by his position : there was no need
for him to get an immediate income, or to fit him-
self in haste for a profession ; and his sensibility to
the half-known facts of his parentage made him an
excuse for lingering longer than others in a state of
social neutrality. Other men, he inwardly said, had
a more definite place and duties. But the project
which flattered his inclination might not have gone
beyond the stage of ineffective brooding, if certain
circumstances had not quickened it into action.

The circumstances arose out of an enthusiastic
friendship which extended into his after-life. Of
the same year with himself, and occupying small
rooms close to his, was a youth who had come as
an exhibitioner from Christ's Hospital, anid had
eccentricities enough for a Charles Lamb. Only
ito look at his pinched features and blond hair
'hanging over his collar reminded one of pale quaint
heads by early German painters ; and when this
faint colouring was lit up by a joke, there came

MEETING STREAMS. 247

sudden creases about the mouth and eyes which
might have been moulded by the soul of an aged
humourist. His father, an engraver of some dis-
tinction, had been dead eleven years, and his
mother had three girls to educate and maintain
on a meagre annuity. Hans Meyrick — he had
been daringly christened after Holbein — felt him-
self the pillar, or rather the knotted and twisted
trunk, round which these feeble climbing plants
must cling. There was no want of ability or of
honest well-meaning affection to make the prop
trustworthy : the ease and quickness with which
he studied might serve him to win prizes at Cam-
bridge, as he had done among the Blue Coats, in
spite of irregularities. The only danger was, that
the incalculable tendencies in him miglit be fatally
timed, and that his good intentions might be frus-
trated by some act which was not due to habit but
to capricious, scattered impulses. He could not be
said to have any one bad habit ; yet at longer or
shorter intervals he had fits of impish recklessness,
and did things that would have made the worst
habits. I

Hans in his right mind, however, was a lovablel
creature, and in Deronda he had happened to find a*
friend who was likely to stand by him with the more |
constancy, from compassion for these brief aberra-|
tions that might bring a long repentance. Hans,
indeed, shared Deronda's rooms nearly as much as he
used his own : to Deronda he poured himself out on
his studies, his affairs, his hopes ; the j)overty of
his home, and his love for the creatures there ; the
itching of his fingers to draw, and his determiua-
tion to fight it away for tlio sake of getting some
sort of plum that he might divide with his mother

248 DANIEL DERONDA.

and the girls. He wanted no confidence in return,
but seemed to take Deronda as an Olympian who
/ needed nothing, — an egotism in friendship which
/ is common enough with mercurial, expansive na-
j tures. Deronda was content, and gave Meyrick all
\ the interest he claimed, getting at last a brotherly
anxiety about him, looking after him in his erratic
moments, and contriving by adroitly delicate devices
not only to make up for his friend's lack of pence,
but to save him from threatening chances. Such
friendship easily becomes tender : the one spreads
strong sheltering wings that delight in spreading ;
the other gets the warm protection which is also a
delight. Meyrick was going in for a classical
scholarship ; and his success, in various ways mo-
mentous, was the more probable from the steadying
influence of Deronda's friendship.

But an imprudence of Meyrick's, committed at
the beginning of the autumn term, threatened to
disappoint his hopes. With his usual alternation
between unnecessary expense and self-privation, he
had given too much money for an old engraving
which fascinated him, and to make up for it, had
come from London in a third-class carriage with
his eyes exposed to a bitter wind and any irritating
particles the wind might drive before it. The con-
sequence was a severe inflammation of the eyes,
which for some time hung over him the threat of a
lasting injury. This crushing trouble called out all
Deronda's readiness to devote himself, and he made
every other occupation secondary to that of being
companion and eyes to Hans, working with him
and for him at his classics, that if possible his
chance of the classical scliolarship might be saved.
Hans, to keep the knowledge of his suftbring from

MEETING STREAMS. 249

his mother and sisters, alleged his work as a
reason for passing the Christmas at Cambridge,
and his friend stayed up with him.

Meanwhile Deronda relaxed his hold on his
mathematics ; and Hans, reflecting on this, at length
said, " Old fellow, while you are hoisting me you
are risking yourself. With your mathematical
cram one may be like Moses or Mahomet or some-
body of that sort who had to cram, and forgot in
one day what it had taken him forty to learn."

Deronda would not admit that he cared about
the risk, and he had really been beguiled into a little
indifference by double sympathy : he was very
anxious that Hans should not miss the much-
needed scholarship, and he felt a revival of interest
in the old studies. Still, when Hans, rather late
in the day, got able to use his own eyes, Deronda -
had tenacity enough to try hard and recover his U/
lost ground. He failed, however ; but he had the ,
satisfaction of seeing Meyrick win. t

Success, as a sort of beginning that urged com-
pletion, might have reconciled Deronda to his
university course ; but the emptiness of all things,
from politics to pastimes, is never so striking to us
as when we fail in them. The loss of the personal
triumph had no severity for him, Init the sense of
having spent his time ineffectively in a mode of
working which had been against the grain, gave
him a distaste for any renewal of tlie process, which
turned his imagined project of quitting Cambridge
into a serious intention. In speaking of his inten-
tion to Meyrick he made it appear that he was
glad of the turn events had taken, — glad to have
the balance dip decidedly, and feel freed from his
hesitations ; but he observed that he must of course

2S0 DANIEL DERONDA.

submit to any strong objection on the part of Sir
Hugo.

Meyrick's joy and gratitude were disturbed by
much uneasiness. He believed in Deronda's al-
leged preference, but he felt keenly that in serving
him Daniel had placed himself at a disadvantage
in Sir Hugo's opinion, and he said mournfully :
" If you had got the scholarship, Sir Hugo would
have thought that you asked to leave us with a bet-
ter grace. You have spoilt your luck, for my sake,
and I can do nothing to mend it."

" Yes, you can ; you are to be a first-rate fellow.
I call that a first-rate investment of my luck."

"Oh, confound it! You save an ugly mongrel
from drowning, and expect him to cut a fine figure.
The poets have made tragedies enough about sign-
ing one's self over to wickedness for the sake of
getting something plummy ; I shall write a tragedy
of a fellow who signed himself over to be good,
and was uncomfortable ever after."

But Hans lost no time in secretly writing the
history of the affair to Sir Hugo, making it plain
that but for Deronda's generous devotion he could
hardly have failed to win the prize he had been
working for.

The two friends went up to town together : Mey-
rick to rejoice with his mother and the girls in their
little home at Chelsea ; Deronda to carry out the less
easy task of opening his mind to Sir Hugo. He
relied a little on the baronet's general tolerance of
eccentricities, but he expected more opposition than
he met with. He was received with even warmer
kindness than usual, the failure was passed over
lightly, and when he detailed his reasons for wish-
ing to quit the university and go to study abroad,

MEETING STREAMS. 251

Sir Hugo sat for some time in a silence which was
rather meditative than surprised. At last he said, x
looking at Daniel with examination, " So you don't , /
want to be an Englishman to the backbone, after'
all ? "

" I want to be an Englishman, but I want to
understand other points of view. And I want to
get rid oi Ji merely English attitude in studies."

" I see ; you don't want to be turned out in the
same mould as every other youngster. And I have
nothing to say against your doffing some of our
national prejudices. I feel the better myself for
having spent a good deal of my time abroad. But,
for God's sake, keep an English cut, and don't be-
come indifferent to bad tobacco ! And, my deay
boy, it is good to be unselfish and generous ; but\
don't carry that too far. It will not do to give \
yourself to be melted down for the benefit of the /
tallow-trade ; you must know where to find yourself. /
However, I shall put no veto on your going. Wait
until I can get off Committee, and I '11 run over with
you."

So Deronda went according to his will. But not
before he had spent some hours with Hans JMeyrick,
and been introduced to the mother and sisters in
the Chelsea home. The shy girls watched and .
registered every look of their brother's friend, i
declared by Hans to have been the salvation of
him, a fellow like nobody else, and, in fine, a brick. ,
They so thoroughly accepted Deronda as an ideal,
that when he was gone the youngest set to work,
under the criticism of the two elder girls, to paint
him as Prince Camaralzaman.

CHAPTER XVII.

This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.

Tennyson : Locksley Hall.

On a fine evening near the end of July, Deronda
was rowing himself on the Thames. It was al-
ready a year or more since he had come back to
England, with the understanding that his educa-
tion was finished, and that he was somehow to
take his place in English society ; but though, in
deference to Sir Hugo's wish, and to fence off idle-
ness, he had begun to read law, this apparent de-
cision had been without other result than to deepen
the roots of indecision. His old love of boating had
revived with the more force now that he was in
town with the Mallingers, because he could nowhere
else get the same still seclusion which the river gave
him. He had a boat of his own at Putney, and
whenever Sir Hugo did not want him, it was his
chief holiday to row till past sunset and come in
again with tlie stars. Not that he was in a sen-
timental stage ; but he was in another sort of
contemplative mood perhaps more common in the
voung men of our day, — that of CLuestioiung whether
It were worth whila-io take part in the battle of the
.World: I mean, of course, the young men iii whom
1 the unproductive labour of questioning is sustained
I by three or five per cent on capital which some-
' body else has battled for. It [)uzzled Sir Hugo that
one who made a splendid contrast with all that was

MEETING STREAMS. 253

sickly and puling should be hampered with ideas
which, since they left an accomplished Whig like
himself unobstructed, could be no better than spec-
tral illusions ; especially as Deronda set himself
ngainst authorship, — a vocation which is under-
stood to turn foolish thinking into funds.

Rowing in his dark-blue shirt and skull-cap, his
curls closely clipped, his mouth beset with abun-
dant soft waves of beard, he bore only disguised
traces of the seraphic boy " trailing clouds of glory."
Still, even one who had never seen him since his boy-
hood might have looked at him with slow recogni-
tion, due perhaps to the peculiarity of the gaze
which Gwendolen chose to call "dreadful," though
it had really a very mild sort of scrutiny. The
voice, sometimes audible in subdued snatches of
song, had turned out merely a high barytone;
indeed, only to look at his lithe powerful frame
and the firm gravity of his face would have been
enough for an experienced guess that he had no
rare and ravishing tenor such as nature reluctantly
makes at some sacrifice. Look at his hands ; they
are not small and dimpled, with tapering fingers
that seem to have only a deprecating touch ; they
are long, flexible, firmly grasping liands, such as
Titian has painted in a picture where he wanted
to show the combination of refinement with force.
And there is something of a likeness, too, between the
faces belonging to the hands, — in both the uniform
pale-brown skin, the perpendicular brow, the calmly
penetrating eyes. Not seraphic any longer : thor- "
oughly terrestrial and manly ; but still of a kind
to raise belief in a human dignity which can afford
to acknowledge poor relations. '

Such types meet us liero and there among average

254 DANIEL DERONDA.

conditions ; in a workman, for example, whistling
over a bit of measurement and lifting his eyes to
answer our question about the road. And often
the grand meanings of faces as well as of written
words may lie chiefly in the impressions of those
who look on them. But it is precisely such impres-
sions that happen just now to be of importance in re-
lation to Deronda, rowing on the Thames in a very
ordinary equipment for a young Englishman at lei-
sure, and passing under Kew Bridge with no thought
of an adventure in which his appearance was likely
to play any part. In fact, he objected very strongly
to the notion, which others had not allowed him to
escape, that his appearance was of a kind to draw
attention ; and hints of this, intended to be com-
plimentary, found an angry resonance in him,
coming from mingled experiences, to which a clew
has already been given. His own face in the glass
had during many years been associated for him with
thoughts of some one whom he must be like, — one
about whose character and lot he continually won-
dered, and never dared to ask.

In the neighbourhood of Kew Bridge, between
six and seven o'clock, the river was no solitude.
Several persons were sauntering on the towing-
path, and here and there a boat was plying.
Deronda had been rowing fast to get over this
spot, when, becoming aware of a great barge advanc-
ing towards him, he guided his boat aside, and rested
on his oar within a couple of yards of the river-brink.
He was all the while unconsciously continuing the
low-toned chant which had haunted his throat all
the way up the river, — the gondolier's song in the
" Otello," where Eossini has worthily set to music
the immortal words (!i Dante, —

MEETING STREAMS. 255

" Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella niiseria ; " ^

and as he rested on his oar, the pianissimo fall of the
melodic wail " nella miseria " was distinctly audible
on the brink of the water. Three or four persons had
paused at various spots to watch the barge pass-
ing the bridge, and doubtless included in their
notice the young gentleman in the boat ; but
probably it was only to one ear that the low
vocal sounds came with more significance |han if
they had been an insect-murmur amidst the sum
of current noises. Derouda, awaiting the barge, now
turned his head to the river-side, and saw at a few
yards' distance from him a figure which might have
been an impersonation of the misery he was uncon-
sciously giving voice to : a girl hardly more than
eighteen, of low slim figure, with most delicate
little face, her dark curls pushed behind her ears
under a large black hat, a long woollen cloak over
her shoulders. Her hands were hanging down
clasped before her, and her eyes were fixed on the
river with a look of immovable, statue-like despair.
This strong arrest of his attention made him cease
singing : apparently his voice had entered her inner
world without her having taken any note of whence
it came, for when it suddenly ceased she changed
her attitude slightly, and looking round with a
frightened glance, met Deronda's face. It was but
a couple of moments, but that seems a long while
for two people to look straight at each other. Her
look was something like that of a fawn or other
gentle animal before it turns to run away : no

1 Dante's words are best rendered by our own poet in the lines at
the head of the chapter.

256 DANIEL DERONDA.

blusli, no special alarm, but only some timidity
which yet could not hinder her from a long look
before she turned. In fact, it seemed to Derouda
that she was only half conscious of her surround-
ings : was she hungry, or was there some other
cause of bewilderment ? He felt an outleap of
interest and compassion towards her ; but the next
instant she had turned and walked away to a neigh-
bouring bencli under a tree. He had no right to
linger and watch her : poorly dressed, melancholy
women are common sights; it was only the delicate
beauty, the picturesque lines and colour of the image
that were exceptional, and these conditions made it
the more markedly impossible that he should obtrude
his interest upon her. He began to row away, and
was soon far up the river ; but no other thoughts
were busy enough quite to expel that pale image
of unhappy girlhood. He fell again and again to
speculating on the probable romance that lay behind
that loneliness and look of desolation ; then to smile
at his own share in the prejudice that interesting
faces must have interesting adventures ; then to
justify himself for feeling that sorrow was the more
tragic when it befell delicate, childlike beauty.

" I should not have forgotten the look of misery
if she had been ugly and vulgar," he said to himself.
I')Ut there was no denying that the attractiveness of
tlie image made it likelier to last. It was clear to
him as an onyx cameo: the brown-black drapery,
the white face with small, small features and dai'k,
long-lashed eyes. His mind glanced over the girl-
tragedies that are going on in the world, hidden,
unheeded, as if they were but tragedies of the copse
or hedgerow, where the helpless drag wounded wings
forsakenly, and streak the shadowed moss with tlie

MEETING STREAMS. 257

red moment-hand of their own death. Deronda of
hite, in his solitary excursions, had been occupied
chiefly with uncertainties about his own course ;
but those uncertainties, being much at their leisure,
were wont to have such wide-sweeping connec-
tions with all life and history that the new imag^ -^
of helpless sorrow easily blent itself with what f
seemed to him the strong array of reasons why he '
should shrink from getting into that routine of the
world which makes men apologize for all its wrong-
doing^ and take opinions as mere professional equip-
ment,— why he should not draw strongly at any /
thread in the hopelessly entangled scheme of
things.

He used his oars little, satisfied to go with the
tide and be taken back by it. It was his habit to
indulge himself in that solemn passivity which easily X
comes with the lengthening shadows and mellowing
light, when thinking and desiring melt together
imperceptibly, and what in other hours may have
seemed argument takes the quality of passionate
visigii. By the time he had come back again with
the tide past Kichmond Bridge the sun was near
setting ; and the approach of his favourite hour —
with its deepening stillness, and darkening masses
of tree and building between the double glow of the
sky and the river — disposed him to linger as if they
had been an unfinished strain of music. He looked
out for a perfectly solitary spot where he could lodge
his boat against the bank, and, throwing himself on
his back with his head propped on the cushions, could
watch out the light of sunset and the opening of that
bead-roll which some Oriental poet describes as God's
call to the little stars, who each answer, " Here am
I." He chose a spot in the bend of the river just

VOL. I. — 17

y

2s8 DANIEL DERONDA.

opposite Kew Gardens, where he had a great breadth
of water before him reflecting the glory of the sky,
while he himself was in shadow. He lay with his
hands behind his head propped on a level with the
boat's edge, so that he could see all around him, but
could not be seen by any one at a few yards' dis-
tance ; and for a long while he never turned his
eyes from the view right in front of him. He was
forgetting everything else in a half-speculative, half-
involuntary identification of himself with the objects
he was looking at, thinking how far it might be pos-
sible habitually to shift his centre till his own
personality would be no less outside him than the
landscape, — when the sense of something moving
on the bank opposite him where it was bordered by
a line of willow-bushes, made him turn his glance
thitherward. In the first moment he had a darting
presentiment about the moving figure ; and now he
could see the small face with the strange dying sun-
light upon it. He feared to frighten her by a sud-
den movement, and watched her with motionless
attention. She looked round, but seemed only to
gather security from the apparent solitude, hid her
hat among the willows, and immediately took off
her woollen cloak. Presently she seated herself and
deliberately dipped the cloak in the water, holding
it there a little while, then taking it out with effort,
rising from her seat as she did so. By this time
Deronda felt sure that she meant to wrap the wet
cloak round her as a drowning-sliroud ; there was no
longer time to hesitate about frightening her. He
rose and seized his oar to ply across ; happily her
position lay a little below him. The poor thing,
overcome with terror at this sign of discovery from
tlie opposite bank, sank down on the brink again,

MEETING STREAMS. 259

holding her cloak but half out of the water. She
crouched and cov^ered her face as if she kept a faint
hope that she had not been seen, and that the boat-
man was accidentally coming towards her. But
soon he was within brief space of her, steadying his
boat against the bank, and speaking, but very
gently, —

" Don't be afraid. . . . You are unhappy. . . .
Pray trust me. . . . Tell me what I can do to help
you."

She raised her head and looked up at him. His
face now was towards the light, and she knew it
again. But she did not speak for a few moments,
which were a renewal of their former gaze at each
other. At last she said in a low sweet voice, with^
an accent so distinct that it suggested foreignness
and yet was not foreign, "I saw you before ;"...'
and then added dreamily, after a like pause, " nella
miseria."

Deronda, not understanding the connection of her
thought, supposed that her mind was weakened by
distress and hunger.

" It was you, singing? " she went on, hesitatingly
— " Nessun maggior dolore." . . . The mere words
themselves, uttered in her sweet undertones, seemed
to give the melody to Deronda's ear.

"Ah, yes," he said, understanding now, "I am
often singing them. But I fear you will injure your-
self staying here. Pray let me carry you in my
boat to some place of safety. And that wet cloak —
let me take it."

He would not attempt to take it without her
leave, dreading lest he should scare her. Even at
his words, he fancied that she shrank and clutched
the cloak more tenaciously. But her eyes were fixed

26o DANIEL DERONDA.

on him with a question in them as she said, " You
look good. Perhaps it is God's command."

" Do trust me. Let me help you. I will die
before I will let any harm come to you."

She rose from her sitting posture, first dragging
the saturated cloak and then letting it fall on the
ground, — it was too heavy for her tired arms. Her
little woman's figure as she laid her delicate chilled
hands together one over the other against her waist,
and went a step backward while she leaned her
head forward as if not to lose her sight of his face,
was unspeakably touching.

" Great God ! " the words escaped Deronda in a tone
so low and solemn that they seemed like a prayer
become unconsciously vocal. The agitating impres-
sion this forsaken girl was making on him stirred a
fibre that lay close to his deepest interest in the fates
, of women, — " perhaps my mother was like this one."
The old thought had come now with a new impetus
of mingled feeling, and urged that exclamation in
which both East and West have for ages concentrated
their awe in the presence of inexorable calamity.

The low-toned words seemed to have some re-
assurance in them for the hearer : she stepped for-
ward close to the boat's side, and Deronda put out
liis hand, hoping now that she would let him help
her in. She had already put lier tiny hand into
his, which closed round it, when some new thought
struck her, and drawing back she said, —

" I have nowhere to go, — nobody belonging to me
X in all this land."

" I will take you to a lady who has daughters,"
said Deronda, immediately. He felt a sort of relief
in gathering that the wretched home and cruel friends
he ima"ined her to be fleeing from were not in the

MEETING STREAMS. 261

near background. Still she hesitated, and said more
timidly than ever, —

" Do you belong to the theatre ? "

" No ; I have nothing to do with the theatre,"
said Deronda, in a decided tone. Then beseech-
ingly, " I will put you in perfect safety at once :
with a lady, a good woman ; I am sure she will be
kind. Let us lose no time : you will make yourself
ill. Life may still become sweet to you. There are
good people — there are good women who will take
care of you."

She drev/ backward no more, but stepped in easily,
as if she were used to such action, and sat down on
the cushions.

" You had a covering for your head," said Deronda.

" My hat ? " (she lifted up her hands to her head.)
" It is quite hidden in the bush."

" I will find it," said Deronda, putting out his
hand deprecatingly as she attempted to rise. " The
boat is fixed."

He jumped out, found the hat, and lifted up the
saturated cloak, wringing it and throwing it into
the bottom of the boat.

" We must carry the cloak away, to prevent any
one who may have noticed you from thinking you
have been drowned," he said cheerfully, as he got in
again and presented the old hat to her. " I wish I
had any other garment than my coat to offer you.
But shall you mind throwing it over your shoulders
while we are on the water ? It is quite an ordinary
thing to do, wlien people return late and are not
enough provided with wraps." He held out the
coat towards her with a smile, and there came a
faint melancholy smile in answer, as she took it and
put it on very cleverly.

262 DANIEL DERONDA.

" I have some biscuits, — should you like them ? "
Kaid Deronda.

" No ; I cannot eat. I had still some money left
to buy bread."

He began to ply his oar without further remark,
and they went along swiftly for many minutes with-
out speaking. She did not look at him, but was
watching the oar, leaning forward in an attitude of
repose, as if she were beginning to feel the comfort
of returning warmth and the prospect of life instead
of death. The twilight was deepening ; the red
flush was all gone, and the little stars were giving
their answer one after another. The moon was
rising, but was still entangled among trees and
buildings. The light was not such that he could
distinctly discern the expression of her features or
her glance, but they were distinctly before him
nevertheless, — features and a glance which seemed
to have given a fuller meaning for him to the human
face. Among his anxieties one was dominant : his
first impression about her, that her mind might be
disordered, had not been quite dissipated : the pro-
ject of suicide was unmistakable, and gave a deeper
colour to every other suspicious sign. He longed to
begin a conversation, but abstained, wishing to en-
courage the coniidence that might induce her to
speak first. At last she did speak.

" I like to listen to the oar."

" So do I."
/ " If you had not come, I should have been dead
now."

" T cannot bear you to speak of that. I hope you
will never be sorry that I came."

" I cannot see how I shall be glad to live. Tha
magyivr dolore and the iiiiseria have lasted longci

MEETING STREAMS. 263

than the tempo felicc." She paused, and then went
on dreamily, " Dolore — miseria — I think those
words are alive."

Deronda was mute : to question her seemed an
unwarrantable freedom ; he shrank from appearing
to claim the authority of a benefactor, or to treat
her with the less reverence because she was in dis-
tress. She went on musingly, —

" I thought it was not wicked. Death and life .^
are one Itefore the Eternal. I know our fathers slew , N
their children and then slew themselves, to keep "" /
their souls pure. I meant it so. But now I am
commanded to live. I cannot see how I shall live."

" You will find friends. I will find them for you."

She shook her head and said mournfully, " Not
my mother and brother. I cannot find them."

" You are English ? You must be, — speaking
English so perfectly."

She did not answer immediately, but looked at
Deronda again, straining to see him in the doubtful
light. Until now she had been watching the oar.
It seemed as if she were half roused, and wondei'ed
which part of her impressions was dreaming and
which waking. Sorrowful isolation had benumbed
her sense of reality, and the power of distinguish-
ing outward and inward was continually slipping
away from her. Her look was full of wondering
timidity, such as the forsaken one in the desert
might have lifted to the angelic vision before she
knew whether his message were in anger or in pity.

" Y^ou want to know if I am English ? " she said
at last, while Deronda was reddening nervously
under a gaze which he felt more fully than he saw.

" I want to know nothing except what you like
to tell me/' he said, still uneasy in the fear that her

264 DANIEL DERONDA.

mind was wandering. " Perhaps it is not good for
you to talk."

" Yes, I will tell you. I am English-born. But
I am a Jewess."

Deronda was silent, inwardly wondering that he
had not said this to himself before, though any one
who had seen delicate-faced Spanish girls might
simply have guessed her to be Spanish.

" Do you despise me for it ? " she said presently,
in low tones, which had a sadness that pierced like
a cry from a small dumb creature in fear.

"Why should I? " said Deronda. " I am not so
foolish."

"I know many Jews are bad."

" So are many Christians. But I should not think
it fair for you to despise me because of that."

" My mother and brother were good. But I shall
never find them. I am come a long way — from
abroad. I ran away ; but I cannot tell you — T can-
not speak of it. I thought I might find my mother
again — God would guide me. But then I de-
spaired. This morning when the light came, I felt
as if one word kept sounding within me, — Never !
never ! But now — I begin — to think — ■ " her words
were broken by rising sobs — "I am commanded to
live — perhaps we are going to her."

With an outburst of weeping she buried her head
on her knees. He hoped that this passionate weep-
ing misrht relieve her excitement. Meanwhile he
was inwardly picturing in much embarrassment how
he should present himself with her in Park Lane, —
the course which he had at first unreflectingly deter-
mined on. No one kinder and more gentle than
Lady Mallinger ; but it was hardly probable that
she would be at home : and he had a shuddering

MEETING STREAMS. 265

sense of a lackey staring at this delicate, sorrowful
image of womanhood, — of glaring lights and fine
staircases, and perhaps chilling suspicious manners
from lady's-maid and housekeeper, that might scare
the mind already in a state of dangerous suscepti-
bility. But to take her to any otlier shelter than a
home already known to him was not to be contem-
plated : he was full of fears about the issue of the
adventure which had brought on him a responsi-
bility all the heavier for the strong and agitating
impression this childlike creature had made on him.
But another resource came to mind : he could ven-
ture to take her to Mrs. Meyrick's, — to the small
home at Chelsea, where he had been often enough
since his return from abroad to feel sure that he
could appeal there to generous hearts, which had a
romantic readiness to believe in innocent need and
to help it. Hans Meyrick was safe away in Italy,
and Deronda felt the comfort of presenting himself
with his charge at a house where he would be
met by a motherly figure of quakerish neatness, and
three girls who hardly knew of any evil closer to
them than what lay in history books and dramas,
and would at once associate a lovely Jewess withX
Eebecca in " Ivanhoe," besides thinking that every-"^
thing they did at Deronda's request would be done
for their idol, Hans. The vision of the Chelsea home
once raised, Deronda no longer hesitated.

The rumbling thither in the cab after the still-
ness of the water seemed long. Happily his charge
had been quiet since her fit of weeping, and sub-
mitted like a tired child. When they were in the
cab, she laid down her hat and tried to rest her
head, but the jolting movement would not let it
rest: still she dozed, and her sweet head hung help-
less first on one side, then on the other.

266 DANIEL DERONDA.

" They are too good to have any fear about taking
hsr in," thought Deronda. Her person, her voice,
lier exquisite utterance, were one strong appeal to
belief and tenderness. Yet what had been the
history which had brought her to this desolation ?
He was going on a strange errand, — to ask shelter
for this waif. Then there occurred to him the
beautiful story Plutarch somewhere tells of the
Delphic women : how when the Mienads, outworn
with their torch-lit wanderings, lay down to sleep
in the market-place, the matrons came and stood
silently round them to keep guard over their slum-
bers ; then, when they waked, ministered to them
tenderly and saw them safely to their own borders.
He could trust the women he was going to for
having hearts as good.

Deronda felt himself growing older this evening
and entering on a new phase in finding a life to
which his own had come — j^erhaps as a rescue?
But how to make sure that snatching from death
was rescue? The moment of finding a fellow-crea-
ture is often as full of mingled doubt and exultation
as the moment of finding an idea.

CHAPTER XVIII.

" Life is a various mother ; now she dons
Her plumes and brilliants, climbs the marble stairs
With head aloft, nor ever turns her eyes
On lackeys who attend her ; now she dwells
Grim-clad up darksome alleys, breathes hot gin,
And screams in pauper riot.

But to tliese
She came a frugal matron, neat and deft,
With cheerful morning thoughts and quick device
To find the much in little."

Mrs. Meyeick's house was not noisy : the front
park)iir looked on the river, and the back on gardens,
so that though she was reading aloud to her daugh-
ters, the window could be left open to freshen the
air of the small double room where a lamp and
two candles were burning. The candles were on a
table apart for Kate, who was drawing illustrations
for a publisher; the lamp was not only for the
reader, but for Amy and Mab, who were embroider-
ing satin cushions for " the great world."

Outside, the house looked very narrow and shabby,
the bright light through the holland blind showing
the heavy old-fashioned window-frame ; but it is ,
pleasant to know that many sucli grim-walled slices [
of space in our foggy London have been, and still are '*
the homes of a culture the more spotlessly free from \
vulgarity, because poverty had rendered everything '
like display an impersonal question, and all the grand
shows of the world simply n spectacle which rouses
no petty rivalry or vain effort after possession.

268 DANIEL DERONDA.

The Meyricks' was a home of that kind ; and
they all clung to this particular house in a row
because its interior was filled with objects always
in the same places, which for the mother held
memories of her marriage time, and for the young
ones seemed as necessary and uncriticised a part of
their world as the stars of the Great Bear seen from
the back windows. Mrs. Meyrick had borne much
stint of other matters that she might be able to
keep some engravings specially cherished by her
husband ; and the narrow spaces of wall held a
world-history in scenes and heads which the chil-
dren had early learned by heart. The chairs and
tables were also old friends preferred to new. But
in these two little parlours with no furniture that a
broker would have cared to cheapen except the
prints and piano, there was space and apparatus
for a wide-glancing, nicely select life, open to the
highest things in music, painting, and poetry. I am
not sure that in the times of greatest scarcity, before
Kate could get paid work, these ladies had always
had a servant to light their fires and sweep their
rooms ; yet they were fastidious in some points, and
could not believe that the manners of ladies in the
fashionable world were so full of coarse selfishness,
petty quarrelling, and slang as they are represented
to be in what are called literary photographs. The
Meyricks had their little oddities, streaks of eccen-
tricity from the mother's blood as well as the father's,
their minds being like media3val houses with unex-
pected recesses and openings from this into that,
flights of steps and sudden outlooks.

But mother and daughters were all united by a
triple bond, — family love ; admiration for the finest
work, the best action ; and habitual industry.,, Hans's

MEETING STREAMS. 269

desire to spend some of his money in making tlieir
lives more luxurious had been resisted by all of
them, and both they and he had been thus saved
from regrets at the threatened triumph of his yearn-
ing for art over the attractions of secured income, —
a triumph that would by and by oblige him to give
up his fellowship. They could all afford to laugh at
his Gavarni-caricatures, and to liold him blameless
in following a natural bent which their unselfish-
ness and independence had left without obstacle.
It was enough for them to go on in their old way,
only having a grand treat of opera-going (to the
gallery) when Hans came home on a visit.

Seeing the group they made this evening, one could
hardly wish them to change their way of life. They
were all alike small, and so in due proportion with
their miniature rooms. Mrs. Meyrick was reading
aloud from a French book : she was a lively little
woman, half French, half Scotch, with a pretty artic-
ulateness of speech that seemed to make daylight
in her hearer's understanding. Though she was not
yet fifty, her rippling hair, covered by a quakerish
net cap, was chiefly gray, but her eyebrows were
brown as the bright eyes below them ; her black
dress, almost like a priest's cassock with its row of
buttons, suited a neat figure hardly five feet high.
The daughters were to match the mother, except
that Mab had Hans's light hair and complexion,
with a bossy irregular brow and other quaintnesses
that reminded one of him. Everything about them
was compact, from the firm coils of their hair,
fastened back a la CMnoise, to their gray skirts in
puritan nonconformity with the fasliion, which at that
time would have demanded that four feminine cir-
cumferences should fill all the free space in the front

270 DANIEL DERONDA.

parlour. All four, if they had heen wax-work, might
have been packed easily in a fashionable lady's
travelling trunk. Their faces seemed full of speech,
as if their minds had been shelled, after the manner
of horse-chestnuts, and become brightly visible.
The only large thing of its kind in the room was
Hatiz, the Persian cat, comfortably poised on the
brown leather back of a chair, and opening his large
eyes now and then to see that the lower animals were
not in any mischief.

The book Mrs. Meyrick had before her was
Erckmann-Chatrian's Histoire d'un Conscrit. She
had just finished reading it aloud, and Mab, who
had let her work fall on the ground while she
stretched her head forward and fixed her eyes on
the reader, exclaimed, —

" I think that is the finest story in the world."

" Of course, Mab ! " said Amy ; " it is the last you
have heard. Everything that pleases you is the
best in its turn."

" It is hardly to be called a story," said Kate. " It
is a bit of history brought near us with a strong
telescope. We can see the soldiers' faces : no, it is
more than that, — we can hear everything, — we can
almost hear their hearts beat."

" I don't care what you call it," said Mab, flirting
away her thimble. "Call it a chapter in Eevela-
tions. It mukes me want to do something good,
something grand. It makes me so sorry for every-
body. It makes me like Schiller, — I want to take
the world in my arms and kiss it. I must kiss you
instead, little mother!" She threw her arms round
her mother's neck.

" Whenever you are in that mood, Mab, down
goes your work," s;tid Amy. " It would be doing

MEETIJVJG STB-EAMS. 271

something good to finish your cushion without soil-
ing it."

" Oh • — oh — oh ! " groaned Mab, as she stooped
to pick up her work and thimble. " I wish I had
three wounded conscripts to take care of."

" You would spill their beef-tea while you were
talking," said Amy.

" Poor Mab ! don't be hard on her," said the
mother. " Give me the embroidery now, child.
You go on with your enthusiasm, and I will go on
with the pink and white poppy."

"Well, ma, I think you are more caustic than
Amy," said Kate, while she drew her head back to
look at her drawing.

"Oh — oh — oh!" cried Mab again, rising and
stretching her arms. " I wish something wonder-
ful would happen. I feel like the deluge. The
waters of the great deep are broken up, and the
windows of heaven are opened. I must sit down
and play the scales."

Mab was opening the piano while the others
were laughing at this climax, when a cab stopped
before the house, and there forthwith came a quick
rap of the knocker.

" Dear me ! " said Mrs. Meyrick, starting up, " it
is after ten, and Phoebe is gone to bed." She has-
tened out, leaving the parlour door open.

" Mr. Deronda ! " The girls could hear this
exclamation from their mamma. Mab clasped her
hands, saying in a loud whisper, "There now!
something is going to happen ; " Kate and Amy
gave up their work in amazement. But Deronda's
tone in reply was so low that they could not hear
his words, and Mrs. Meyrick immediately closed
the parlour door.

272 DANIEL DERONDA.

" I know I am trusting to your goodness in a
most extraordinary way," Deronda went on, after
giving his brief narrative, " but you can imagine
liow helpless I feel with a young creature like this
on my hands. I could not go with her among
strangers, and in her nervous state I should dread
taking her into a house full of servants. I have
trusted to your mercy. 1 hope you will not think
my act unwarrantable."

" On the contrary. You have honoured me by
trusting me. I see your difficulty. Pray bring her
in. I will go and prepare the girls."

While Deronda went back to the cab, Mrs.
Meyrick turned into the parlour again and said,
" Here is somebody to take care of instead of your
wounded conscripts, Mab : a poor girl who was
going to drown herself in despair. Mr. Deronda
found her only just in time to save her. He
brought her along in his boat, and did nut know
what else it would be safe to do with her, so he has
trusted us and brought her here. It seems she is
a Jewess, but quite refined, he says, — knowing
Italian and music."

The three girls, wondering and expectant, came
forward and stood near each other in mute confidence
that they were all feeling alike under this appeal
to their compassion. Mab looked rather awe-stricken,
as if this answer to her wish were something
preternatural.

^leauwhile Deronda, going to the door of the cab
where the pale face was now gazing out with roused
observation, said, " I have brouglit you to some of
the kindest people in the world: there are daughters
like you. It is a happy home. Will you let me
take you to them ? "

MEETING STREAMS. 273

She stepped out obediently, putting her hand in
his and forgetting lier hat ; and wlien Deronda led
her into the full light of the parlour where the four
little women stood awaiting her, she made a picture
that would have stirred much duller sensibilities
than theirs. At first she was a liltle dazed by the
sudden light, and before she had concentrated her
glance he had put her hand into the mother's. He
was inwardly rejoicing that the Meyricks were so
small : the dark-curled head was the highest among
them. The poor wanderer could not be afraid of
these gentle faces so near hers ; and now she was
looking at each of them in turn while the mother
said, " You must be weary, poor child."

" We will take care of you, — we will comfort you,
— we will love you," cried Mab, no longer able to
restrain herself, and taking the small right hand
caressingly between both her own. This gentle
welcoming warmth was penetrating the bewildered
one : she hung back just enough to see better the
four faces in front of her, whose good-will was
being reflected in hers, not in any smile, but in that
undefinable change which tells us that anxiety is
passing into contentment. Tor an instant she
looked up at Deronda, as if she were referring all
this mercy to him, and then again turning to Mrs.
Meyrick, said with more collectedness in her sweet
tones than he had heard before, —

" I am a stranger. I am a Jewess. You might
have thought I was wicked."

" No, we are sure you are good," burst out Mab.

" We think no evil of you, poor child. You shall
be safe with us," said Mrs. Meyrick. " Come now
and sit down. You must have some food, and then
go to rest."
VOL. 1. — 18

274 DANIEL DEKONDA.

The stranger looked up again at Deronda, who
said, —

" You will have no more fears with these friends ?
^You will rest to-night ? "

" Oh, I should not fear. I should rest. I think
these are the ministering angels."

Mrs. Meyrick wanted to lead her to a seat, but
again hanging back gently, the poor weary thing
spoke as if with a scruple at being received without
a further account of herself : —

" My name is Mirah Lapidoth. I am come a
long way, all the way from Pragvie by myself. I
made my escape. I ran away from dreadful things.
I came to find my mother and brother in London.
I had been taken from my mother when I was lit-
tle, but I thought I could find her again. I had
trouble, — the houses were all gone, — I could not
find her. It has been a long while, and I had not
much money. That is why I am in distress."

" Our mother will be good to you," cried Mab.
" See what a nice little mother she is ! "

"Do sit down now," said Kate, moving a chair
forward, while Amy ran to get some tea.

Mirah resisted no longer, but seated herself with
perfect grace, crossing her little feet, laying her
hands one over the other on her lap, and looking at
her friends with placid reverence ; whereupon Hafiz,
who had been watching the scene restlessly, came
forward with tail erect and rubbed himself against
her ankles. Deronda felt it time to take his leave.

" Will you allow me to come again and inquire
— perhaps at five to-morrow ? " he said to Mrs.
Meyrick.

" Yes, pray ; we shall have had time to make
acquaintance then."

MEETING STREAMS. 275

" Good-by," said Deronda, looking down at Mirah,
and putting out his hand. She rose as she took it,
and the moment brought back to them both strongly
the other moment when she had first taken that
outstretched hand. She lifted her eyes to his, and
said with reverential fervour : " The God of our
fathers bless you and deliver you from all evil as you
have delivered me. I did not believe there was any
man so good. None before have thought me worthy
of the best. You found me poor and miserable, yet
you have given me the best."

Deronda could not speak, but with silent adieux
to the Meyricks, hurried away.

BOOK III.

MAIDENS CHOOSING.

CHAPTEK XIX.

I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and
say, " "r is all barren ; " and so it is : and so is all the world to him
who will not cultivate the fruits it offers. — Sterne : Sentimental
Journey.

To say that Deronda was romantic would be to
, misrepresent him ; but under his calm and some-
what self-repressed exterior there was a fervour
which made him easily tind poetry and romance
among the events of every-day life And perhaps
poetry and romance are as plentiful as ever in the
world except for those phlegmatic natures who I
suspect would in any age have regarded them as a
dull form of erroneous thinking. They exist very
easily in the same room with the microscope and
even in railway carriages : what banishes them is
the vacuum in gentlemen and lady passengers.
How should all the apparatus of heaven and earth,
from the farthest firmament to the tender bosom of
the mother who nourished us, make poetry for a
mind that has no movements of awe and tender-
ness, no sense of fellowship which thrills from the
near to the distant, and back again from the dis-
tant to the near?

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 277

To Deronda this event of findino- Mirah was as
heart-stirring as anything that befell Orestes or
Eiualdo. He sat up half the night, living again
through the moments since he had first discerned
Mirah on the river-brink, with the fresh and
fresh vividness which belongs to emotive memory.
When he took up a book to try and dull this
urgency of inward vision, the printed words were
no more than a network through which he saw and
heard everything as clearly as before, — saw not
only the actual events of two hours, but possibili-
ties of what had been and what might be which
those events were enough to feed with the warm
blood of passionate hope and fear. Something in
his own experience caused Mirah 's search after her
mother to lay hold with peculiar force on his im-
agination. The first prompting of sympathy was
to aid her in the search : if given persons were
extant in London, there were ways of finding them,
as subtle as scientific experiment, the right machin-
ery being set at work. But here the mixed feelings
which belonged to Deronda 's kindred experience
naturally transfused themselves into his anxiety
on behalf of Mirah.

The desire to know liis own mother, or to know
about her, was constantly haunted with dread;
and in imagining what might befall Mirah it
quickly occurred to him that finding the mother
and brother from whom she had been parted when
she was a little one might turn out to be a calam-
ity. When she was in the boat she said that her
mother and brother were good ; but the goodness
might have been chiefly in her own ignorant inno-
cence and yearning memory, and the ten or tv.vlve
years since the parting had been time enough for

y

278 DANIEL DERONDA.

much worsening. Spite of his strong tendency to
y. side with the ohjects of prejudice, and in general
with those who got the worst of it, his interest
had never been practically drawn towards existing
Jews ; and the facts he knew about them, whether
they walked conspicuous in line apparel or lurked
in by-streets, were chiefly of the sort most repug-
nant to him. Of learned and accomplished Jews
he took it for granted that they had dropped their
religion, and wished to be merged in the people of
their native lands. Scorn flung at a Jew as such
would have roused all his sympathy in griefs of
inheritance; but the indiscriminate scorn of a race
will often strike a specimen who has well earned it
on his own account, and might fairly be gibbeted
as a rascally son of Adam. It appears that the
Caribs, who know little of theology, regard thiev-
ing as a practice peculiarly connected with Chris-
tian tenets, and probably they could allege
experimental grounds for this opinion- Deronda
could not escape (who can ?) knowing ugly stories
of Jewish characteristics and occupations ; and
though one of his favourite protests was against
the severance of past and present history, he was
like others who shared his protest, in never hav-
ing cared to reach any more special conclusions
about actual Jews than that they retained the
virtues and vices of a long-oppressed race. But
now that Mirah's longing roused his mind to a
closer survey of details, very disagreeable images
urged themselves of what it might be to find
out this middle-aged Jewess and her son. To
be sure, there was the exquisite refinement and
charm of the creature herself to make a pre-
sumption iu favour of her immediate kindred.

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 279

but — he must wait to know more : perhaps throngli
Mrs. Meyrick he might gather some guiding hints
from Mirah's own lips. Her voice, her accent,
her looks, — all the sweet purity that clothed her as
with a consecrating garment, made him shrink the
more from giving her, either ideally or practically,
an association with what was hateful or contami-
nating. But these fine words with which we
fumigate and becloud unpleasant facts are not the
language in which we think. Deronda's thinking
went on in rapid images of what might be : he saw
himself guided by some official scout into a dingy
street ; he entered through a dim doorway, and
saw a hawk-eyed woman, rough -headed, and un-
washed, cheapening a hungry girl's last bit of
finery ; or in some quarter only the more hideous
for being smarter, he found himself under the
breath of a young Jew, talkative and familiar, will-
ing to show his acquaintance with gentlemen's
tastes, and not fastidious in any transactions with
which they would favour him, — • and so on through
the brief chapter of his experience in this kind.
Excuse him ; his mind was not apt to run sponta-
neously into insulting ideas, or to practise a form
of wit which identifies Moses with the advertise-
ment sheet ; but he was just now governed by
dread, and if Mirah's parents had been Christian,
the chief difierence would have been that his fore-
bodings would have been fed with wider knowl-
edga It was the habit of his mind to connect
dread with unknown parentage, and in this case as
well as his own there was enough to make the
connection reasonable.

But what was to be done with Mirah ? She
needed shelter and protection in the fullest sense,

28o DANIEL DEKONDA.

and all his chivalrous sentiment roused itself to
insist that the sooner and the more fully he could
engage for her the interest of others besides him-
self, the better he should fulfil her claims on him.
He had no right to provide for her entirely, though
he might be able to do so ; the very depth of the
impression she had produced made him desire that
she should understand herself to be entirely inde-
pendent of him ; and vague visions of the future
which he tried to dispel as fantastic left their in-
fluence in an anxiety stronger than any motive he
could give for it, that those who saw his actions
closely should be acquainted from the first with the
history of his relation to Mirah. He had learned to
hate secrecy about the grand ties and obligations
of his life, — to hate it the more because a strong
spell of interwoven sensibilities hindered him from
breaking such secrecy. Deronda had made a vow
to himself that — since the truths which disgrace
mortals are not all of their own making — the
truth should never be made a disgrace to another
by his act. He was not without terror lest he
should break this vow, and fall into the apologetic
philosophy which explains the world into contain-
ing nothing better than one's own conduct.

At one moment he resolved to tell the whole of
his adventure to Sir Hugo and Lady Mallinger the
next morning at breakfast ; but the possibility that
something quite new might reveal itself on his
next visit to Mrs. Meyrick's checked this impulse,
and he finally went to sleep on the conclusion that
he would wait until that visit had been made.

CHAPTEE XX.

It will hardly be denied that eveu in this frail and corrupted
world we sometimes meet persons who in their very mien and
aspect, as Mell as in the whole habit of life, manifest such a .sijrua-
ture and stamp of virtue as to make our judgment of them a
matter of intuition rather tiiau tlie result of continued examina-
tion.— Alexander Knox ; quoted in Southey's Life of Wesley.

MiRAH said that she had slept well that night ;
and when she came down in Mab's black dress, her
dark hair curling in fresh fibrils as it gradually dried
from its plenteous bath, she looked like one who
was beginning to take comfort after the long sorrow
and watching which had paled her cheek and made
deep blue semicircles under her eyes. It was Mab
who carried her breakfast and ushered her down, —
with some pride in the effect produced by a pair of
tiny felt slippers which she had rushed out to
buy because there were no shoes in the house small
enough for Mirah, whose borrowed dress ceased
about her ankles, and displayed the cheap clothing
that moulding itself on her feet seemed an adorn-
ment as choice as the sheaths of buds. The far-
thing buckles were bijoux.

" Oh, if you please, mamma ! " cried Mab, clasp-
ing her hands and stooping towards Mirah's feet,
as she entered the parlour; " look at the slippers,
how beautifully they fit! I declare she is like
the Queen Budoor, — ' two delicate feet, the work
of the protecting and all-recompensing Creator,
support her ; and I wonder how they can sustain
what is above them. ' "

282 DANIEL DEEONDA.

Mirah looked down at her own feet in a child-
like way, and then smiled at Mrs. Meyrick, who
was saying inwardly, " One could hardly imagine
this creature having an evil thought ; but wise
people would tell me to be cautious. " She re-
turned Mirah 's smile and said, " I fear the feet
have had to sustain their burthen a little too often
lately. But to-day she will rest and be my
companion. "

" And she will tell you so many things and I
shall not hear them, " grumbled Mab, who felt
herself in the first volume of a delightful romance
and obliged to miss some chapters because she had
to go to pupils.

Kate was already gone to make sketches along
the river, and Amy was away on business errands.
It was what the mother wished, to be alone with
this stranger, whose story must be a sorrowful
one, yet was needful to be told.

The small front parlour was as good as a temple
that morning. The sunlight was on the river, and
soft air came in through the open window ; the
walls showed a glorious silent cloud of witnesses ;
— the Virgin soaring amid her cherubic escort ;
grand Melancholia with her solemn universe ; the
Prophets and Sibyls ; the School of Athens ; the
Last Supper ; mystic groups where far-off ages made
one moment ; grave Holbein and Eembrandt heads ;
the Tragic Muse ; last-century children at their
musings or their play; Italian poets, — all were
there through the medium of a little black and
white. The neat mother who had weathered her
troubles, and come out of them with a face still
cheerful, was sorting coloured wools for her em-
broidery. Hafiz purred on the window-ledge, the

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 283

clock on the mantelpiece ticked without hurry,
and the occasional sound of wheels seemed to lie
outside tlie more massive central quiet. Mrs,
Meyrick thought that this quiet might be the best
invitation to speech on the part of her companion,
and chose not to disturb it by remark. Mirah sat
opposite in her former attitude, her hands clasped
on her lap, her ankles crossed, her eyes at first
travelling slowly over the objects around her, but
finally resting with a sort of placid reverence on
Mrs. Meyrick. At length she began to speak
softly.

" I remember my mother's face better than any-
thing ; yet I was not seven when I was taken
away, and I am nineteen now. "

" I can understand that, " said Mrs. Meyrick.
" There are some earliest things that last the
longest. "

" Oh, yes, it was the earliest. I think my life
began with waking up and loving my mother's
face : it was so near to me, and her arms were
round me, and she sang to me. One hymn she sang
so often, so often ; and then she taught me to sing
it with her : it was the first I ever sang. They
were always Hebrew hymns she sang ; and because
I never knew the meaning of the words they seemed
full of nothing but our love and happiness. When
I lay in my little bed and it was all white above
me, she used to bend over me between me and the
white, and sing in a sweet low voice. I can dream
myself back into that time when I am awake, and
often, it comes back to me in my sleep, — my hand
is very little, I put it up to her face and she kisses
it. Sometimes in my dream I begin to trem'hle
and think that we are both dead ; but then I wake

284 DANIEL DERONDA.

up and my hand lies like this, and for a moment
I hardly know myself. But if I could see my
mother again, I should know her. "

" You must expect some change after twelve
years, " said Mrs. Meyrick, gently. " See my gray
hair : ten years ago it was bright brown. The
days and the months pace over us like restless little
birds, and leave the marks of their feet back-
wards and forwards ; especially when they are
like birds with heavy hearts, — then they tread
heavily."

" Ah, I am sure her heart has been heavy for
want of me. But to feel her joy if we could meet
again, and I could make her know how I love her,
and give her deep comfort after all her mourning !
If that could be, I should mind nothing; I should
be glad that I have lived through my trouble. I
did despair. The world seemed miserable and
wicked ; none helped me so that I could bear their
looks and words ; I felt that my mother was dead,
and death was the only way to her. But then in
the last moment — yesterday, when I longed for
the water to close over me — and I thought that
death was the best image of mercy — then goodness
came to me living, and I felt trust in the living.
And — it is strange — but I began to hope that she
was living too. And now I am with you — here —
this morning, peace and hope have come into me
like a flood. I want nothing ; I can wait ; because
I hope and believe and am grateful — oh, so grate-
ful ! You have not thought evil of me — you have
not despised me. "

Mirah spoke with low=toned fervour, and sat as
still as a picture all the while.

" Many others would have felt as we do, my

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 285

dear, " said Mrs. Meyrick, feeling a mist come over
her eyes as she looked at her work.

" But I did not meet them — they did not come
to me. "

" How was it that you were taken from your
mother ? "

" Ah, I am a long while coming to that. It is
dreadful to speak of, yet I must tell you — I must
tell you everything. My father — it was he who
took me away, I thought we were only going on
a little journey ; and I was pleased. There was a
box with all my little things in. But we went on
board a ship, and got farther and farther away
from the land. Then I was ill ; and I thought it
would never end — it was the first misery, and it
seemed endless. But at last we landed. I knew
nothing then, and believed what my father said.
He comforted me, and told me I should go back to
my mother. But it was America we had reached,
and it was long years"before we came back to
Europe. At first I often asked my father when
we were going back ; and I tried to learn writing
fast, because I wanted to write to my mother; but
one day when he found me trying to write a letter,
he took me on his knee and told me that my
mother and brother were dead ; that was why we
did not go back. I remember my brother a little ;
he carried me once ; but he was not always at
home. T believed my father when he said that
they were dead. I saw them under tlie earth when
he said they were there, with their eyes forever
closed. I never thought of its not being true ; and
I used to cry every night in my bed for a long
while. Then when she came so often to me, in
my sleep, I thought she must be living about me

286 DANIEL DERONDA.

though I could not always see her, and that com-
forted me. I was never afraid in the dark, be-
cause of that ; and very often in the day I used to
shut my eyes and bury my face and try to see her
and to hear her singing. I came to do that at last
without shutting my eyes. "

Mirah paused with a sweet content in her face,
as if she were having her happy vision, while she
looked out towards the river.

" Still your father was not unkind to you, I
hope, " said Mrs. Meyrick, after a minute, anx-
ious to recall her.

" No ; he petted me, and took pains to teach me.
He was an actor; and I found out, after, that the
' Coburg ' I used to hear of his going to at home
was a theatre. But he had more to do with the
theatre than acting. He had not always been an
actor ; he had been a teacher, and knew many lan-
guages. His acting was not very good, I think ;
but he managed the stage, and wrote and translated
plays. An Italian lady, a singer, lived with us a
long time. They both taught me ; and I had a
master besides, who made me learn by heart and
recite. I worked quite hard, though I was so
little ; and I was not nine when I first went on
the stage. I could easily learn things, and I was
not afraid. But then and ever since I hated our
way of life. My father had money, and we had
finery about us in a disorderly way ; always there
were men and women coming and going, there was
loud laughing and disputing, strutting, snapping
of fingers, jeering, faces I did not like to look at
— though many petted and caressed me. But then
I remembered my mother. Even at first when I
understood nothing, I shrunk away from all those

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 287

things outside me into companionship with thoughts
that were not like them ; and I gathered thoughts
very fast, because I read many things, — plays and
poetry, Shakespeare and Schiller, — and learned
evil and good. My father began to believe that I
might be a great singer : my voice was considered
wonderful for a child ; and lie had the best teach-
ing for me. But it was painful that he boasted of
me, and set me to sing for show at any minute, as
if I had been a musical box. Once when I was
nine years old, I played the part of a little girl
who had been forsaken and did not know it, and
sat singing to herself while she played with flowers.
I did it without any trouble ; but the clapping and
all the sounds of the theatre were hateful to me ;
and I never liked the praise I had, because it
seemed all very hard and unloving : I missed the
love and the trust I had been born into. I made
a life in my own thoughts quite different from
everything about me : I chose what seemed to me
beautiful out of tlie plays and everything, and
made my world out of it ; and it was like a sharp
knife always grazing me that we had two sorts of --
life which jarred so with each other, — women /

looking good and gentle on the stage, and saying
good things as if they felt them, and directly after r
I saw them with coarse, ugly manners. My father
sometimes noticed my shrinking ways ; and Signora
said one day when I had been rehearsing, ' She
will never be an artist : she has no notion of being
anybody but herself. That does very well now,
but by and by you will see, — she will have no
more face and action than a singing-bird. ' My
father was angry, and they quarrelled. I sat alone
and cried, because what she had said was like a

288 DANIEL DEUONDA.

long unhappy future unrolled before me. I did
not want to be an artist ; but this was what my
father expected of me. After a while Signora left
us, and a governess used to come and give me les-
sons in different things, because my father began
to be afraid of my singing too much ; but I still
acted from time to time. Kebellious feelings grew
stronger in me, and I wished to get away from this
life ; but I could not tell where to go, and I dreaded
the world. Besides, I felt it would be wrong to
leave my father : I dreaded doing wrong, for I
thought I might get wicked and hateful to myself,
in the same way that many others seemed hateful
to me. For so long, so long I had never felt my
outside world happy ; and if I got wicked I should
lose my world of happy thoughts where my mother
lived with me. That was my childish notion all
through those years. Oh, how long they were ! "

Mirah fell to musing again.

" Had you no teaching about what was your
duty ? " said Mrs. Meyrick. She did not like to
say " religion, " — finding herself on inspection
rather dim as to what the Hebrew religion might
have turned into at this date.

" No — only that I ought to do what my father
^ wished. He did not follow our religion at New
York, and I think he wanted me not to know much
about it. But because my mother used to take me
to the synagogue, and I remembered sitting on her
knee and looking through the railing and hearing
the chanting and singing, I longed to go. One
day when I was quite small I slipped out and tried
to find the synagogue, but I lost myself a long
while till a pedler questioned me and took me
home. My father, missing me, had been in much

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 289

fear, and was very angry. I too had been so
frightened at losing myself that it was long before
I thought of venturing out again. But after Sig-
nora left us we went to rooms where our landlady
was a Jewess and observed her religion. I asked
her to take me with her to the synagogue ; and I
read in her prayer-books and Bible, and when I had '"'
money enough I asked her to buy me books of my
own, for these books seemed a closer companion-
ship with my mother : I knew that she must have
looked at the very words and said them. In that
way I have come to know a little of our religion,
and the history of our people, besides piecing to-
gether what I read in plays and other books about ,
Jews and Jewesses ; because I was sure that my
mother obeyed her religion. I had left off asking
my father about her. It is very dreadful to say it,
but I bcRan to disbelieve him. I had found that
he did not always tell the truth, and made prom-
ises without meaning to keep them; and that
raised my suspicion that my mother and brother
were still alive, though he had told me that they
were dead. For in going over the past again and
again, as I got older and knew more, I felt sure
that my mother had been deceived, and had ex-
pected to see us back again after a very little
while ; and my father taking me on his knee and
telling me that my mother and brother were both
dead seemed to me now nothing but a bit of act- '
ing, to set my mind at rest. The cruelty of that ..
falsehood sank into me, and I hated all untruth
because of it. I wrote to my mother secretly : I
knew the street, Colman Street, where we lived, \
and that it was near Blackfriars Bridge and the |
Coburg, and that our name was Cohen then, though /

VOL. I. — 19 i

290 DANIEL DEKONDA.

my father called us Lapidoth, because he said it
was a name of his forefathers in Poland. I sent
my letter secretly ; but no answer came, and I
thought there was no hope for me. Our life in
America did not last much longer. My father
suddenly told me we were to pack up and go to
Hamburg, and I was rather glad. I hoped we
might get among a different sort of people, and I
knew German quite well, — some German plays
almost all by heart. My father spoke it better than
he spoke English. I was thirteen then, and I
seemed to myself quite old, — I knew so much, and
yet so little. I think other children cannot feel
as I did. I had often wished that I had been
drowned when I was going away from my mother.
But I set myself to obey and suffer : what else
could I do ? One day when we were on our voy-
age, a new thought came into my mind. I was not
very ill that time, and I kept on deck a good deal.
My father acted and sang and joked to amuse
people on board, and I used often to overhear re-
marks about him. One day, when I was looking
at the sea and nobody took notice of me, I over-
heard a gentleman say, ' Oh, he is one of those
"' clever Jews, — a rascal, I should n't wonder.
There's no race like thenx for cunning in the men
I and beauty in the women. I wonder what market
■ he means that daughter for. ' When I heard this
\ it darted into my mind that the unhappiness in
my life came from my being a J(^wess, and that
always to the end the world would think sliglitly
of me and that I must bear it, for I should be
judged by that name ; and it comforted me to be-
/ lieve that my suffering was part of the affliction
I of my people, my part in the long song of mourn-

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 291

ing that has been going on through ages and ages.
For if many of our race were wicked and made
merry in their wickedness, — what was that but
part of the affliction borne by the just among them,
who were despised for the sins of their brethren ? — •
But you have not rejected me. "

Mirah had changed her tone in this last sentence,
having suddenly reflected that at this moment she
had reason not for complaint but for gratitude.

" And we will try to save you from being judged
unjustly by others, my poor child, " said Mrs.
Meyrick, who had now given up all attempt at
going on with her work, and sat listening with
folded hands and a face hardly less eager than
Mab's would have been. " Go on, go on: tell me
all. "

" After that we lived in different towns, — Ham-
burg and Vienna the longest. I began to study
singing again, and my father always got money
about the theatres. I think he brought a good
deal of money from America : I never knew why
we left. For some time he was in great spirits
about my singing, and he made me rehearse parts
and act continually. He looked forward to my
coming out in the opera. But by and by it seemed
that my voice would never be strong enough, — it
did not fulfil its promise. My master at Vienna
said, ' Don't strain it further: it will never do for
the public : it is gold, but a thread of gold dust. '
My father was bitterly disappointed : we were not
so well off at that time. I think I have not quite
told you what I felt about my father. I knew he
was fond of me and meant to indulge me, and that
made me afraid of hurting him ; but he always
mistook what would please me and give me happi-

292 DANIEL DERONDA.

ness. It was his nature to take everything lightly ;
and I soon left off asking him any question about
things that I cared for much, because he always
turned them off with a joke. He would even ridi-
cule our own people ; and once when he had been
imitating their movements and their tones in pray-
ing, only to make others laugh, I could not restrain
myself, — for I always had an anger in my heart
about my mother, — and when we were alone, I
said, ' Father, you ought not to mimic our own
people before Christians who mock them : would
it not be bad if I mimicked you, that they might
mock you 1 ' But he only shrugged his shoulders
and laughed and pinched my chin, and said, ' You
couldn't do it, my dear. ' It was this way of
turning off' everything, that made a great wall be-
tween me and my father, and whatever I felt most
I took the most care to hide from him. For there
were some things — when they were laughed at I
could not bear it: the world seemed like a hell to
me. Is this world and all the life upon it only
like a farce or a vaudeville, where you find no
great meanings? Why, then, are there tragedies
and grand operas, where men do ditticult things and
choose to suffer ? I think it is silly to .speak of
all things as a ^oke. And I saw that his wishing
me to sing the greatest music, and parts in grand
operas, was only wishing for what would fetch the
greatest price. That hemmed in my gratitude for
his affectionateness, and the tenderest feeling I had
towards him was pity. Yes, I did sometimes pity
him. He had aged and changed. Now he was no
longer so lively. I thought he seemed worse, —
less good to others and to me. Every now and
then in the latter years his gayety went away

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 293

suddenly, and he would sit at home silent and
gloomy; or he would come in and fling himself
down and sob, just as I have done myself when I
have been in trouble. If I put my hand on his
knee and said, ' What is the matter, father ? ' he
would make no answer, but would draw my arm
round his neck and put his arm round me and go
on crying. There never came any confidence be-
tween us ; but oh, I was sorry for him. At
those moments I knew he must feel his life bitter,
and I pressed my cheek against his head and
prayed. Those moments were what most bound
me to him ; and I used to think how much my
mother once loved him, else she would not have
married him.

" But soon there came the dreadful time. We
had been at Pesth, and we came back to Vienna.
In spite of what my master Leo had said, my
father got me an engagement, not at the opera, but
to take singing parts at a suburb theatre in Vienna.
He had nothing to do with the theatre then ; I did
not understand what he did, but I think he was
continually at a gambling-house, though he was
careful always about taking me to the theatre. I
was very miserable. The plays T acted in were
detestable to me. Men came about us and wanted
to talk to me. Women and men seemed to look at
me with a sneering smile : it was no l»etter than a
fiery furnace. Perhaps I make it worse than it "^
was — you don't know that life ; but the glare and
the faces, and my having to go on and act and sing
what I hated, and then see people who came to
stare at me behind the scenes — it was all so mucli
worse than when I was a little girl. I went
through with it: I did it; I had set my mind to

294 DANIEL DERONDA.

obey my father and work, for I saw nothing better
that I could do. But I felt that my voice was
getting weaker, and I knew that my acting was
not good except when it was not really acting, but
the part was one that I could be myself in, and
some feeling within me carried me along. That
was seldom.

" Then in the midst of all this, the news came
to me one morning that my father had been taken
to prison, and he had sent for me. He did not
tell me the reason why he was there, but he
ordered me to go to an address he gave me, to see
a Count who would be able to get him released.
The address was to some public rooms where I was
to ask for the Count, and beg him to come to my
father. I found him, and recognized him as a
gentleman whom I had seen the other night for
the first time behind the scenes. That agitated
me, for I remembered his way of looking at me
and kissing my hand, — I thought it was in mock-
ery. But I delivered my errand and he promised
to go immediately to my father, v/ho came home
again that very evening, bringing the Count with
him. I now Ijegan to feel a horrible dread of this
man, for he worried me with his attentions, his
eyes were always on me : I felt sure that whatever
else there might be in his mind towards me, below
it all there was scorn for the Jewess and the
actress. And when he came to me the next day
in the theatre and would put my shawl round me,
a terror took hold of me ; I saw that my father
wanted me to look pleased. The Count was neither
very young nor very old : his hair and eyes were
pale ; he was tall and walked heavily, and his face
was heavy and grave except when he looked at me.

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 295

He smiled at me, and his smile went through me
with horror : I could not tell why he was so much
worse to me than other men. Some feelings are
like our hearing : they come as sounds do, before
we know their reason. My father talked to me
about him when we were alone, and praised him,
— said what a good friend he had been. I said
nothing, because I supposed he had got my father
out of prison. When the Count came again, my
father left the room. He asked me if I liked be-
ing on the stage. I said No, I only acted in
obedience to my father. He always spoke French,
and called me ' petit ange ' and such things, which
I felt insulting. I knew he meant to make love
to me, and I had it firmly in my mind that a
nobleman and one who was not a Jew could have
no love for me that was not half contempt. But
then he told me that I need not act any longer ;
he wished me to visit him at his beautiful place,
where I might be queen of everything. It was
difhcult to me to speak, I felt so shaken with
anger : I could only say, ' I would rather stay on
the stage forever,' and I left him there. Hurrying
out of the room, I saw my father sauntering in the
passage. My heart was crushed. I went past
him and locked myself up. It had sunk into me
that my father was in a conspiracy with that man
against me. But the next day he persuaded me to
come out : he said that I had mistaken everything,
and he would explain : if I did not come out and
act and fulfil my engagement, we should be ruined
and he must starve. So I went on acting, and for
a week or more the Count never came near me.
My father changed our lodgings, and kept at liome
except when he went to the theatre with me. He

296 DANIEL DERONDA.

began one day to speak discouragingly of my act-
ing, and say, I could never go on singing in public
— I should lose my voice — I ought to think of
my future, and not put my nonsensical feelings
between me and my fortune. He said, ' What
will you do ? You will be brought down to sing
and beg at people's doors. You have had a splen-
did offer and ought to accept it. ' I could not
speak : a horror took possession of me when I
thought of my mother and of him. I felt for the
tirst time that I should not do wrong to leave him.
But the next day he told me that he had put an
end to my engagement at the theatre, and that we
were to go to Prague. I was getting suspicious of
everything, and my will was hardening to act
against him. It took us two days to pack and get
ready ; and I had it in my mind that I might be
obliged to run away from my father, and then I
would come to London and try if it were possible
to find my mother. I had a little money, and I
sold some things to get more. I packed a few
clothes in a little bag that I could carry with me,
and I kept my mind on the watch. My father's
silence — his letting drop that subject of the
Count's offer — made me feel sure that there was a
plan against me. I felt as if it had been a plan to
take me to a madhouse. I once saw a picture of
a madhouse, that I could never forget ; it seemed
to me very much like some of the life I had
seen, — the people strutting, quarrelling, leering, —
the faces with cunning and malice in them. It
was my will to keep myself from wickedness ; and
I prayed for help. I had seen what despised
women were : and my heart turned against my
father, for I saw always behind him that man who

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 297

made me shudder. You will tliink I had not
enough reason for my suspicions, and perhaps I
had not, outside my own feeling ; but it seemed to
me that my mind had been lit up, and all that
might be stood out clear and sharp. If I slept, it
was only to see the same sort of things, and T
could hardly sleep at all. Through our journey I
was everywhere on the watch. I don't know why,
but it came before me like a real event, that my
father would suddenly leave me and I should find
myself with the Count where I could not get away
from him. I thought God was warning me : my
mother's voice was in my soul. It was dark when
we reached Prague, and though the strange bunches
of lamps were lit it was difficult to distinguish
faces as we drove along the street. My father
chose to sit outside — he was always smoking now
— and I watched everything in spite of the dark-
ness. I do believe I could see better then than ever
I did before : the strange clearness witliin seemed
to have got outside me. It was not my habit to
notice faces and figures much in the street ; but
this night I saw every one ; and when we passed
before a great hotel, I caught sight only of a back
that was passing in — the light of the great bunch
of lamps a good way off fell on it. I knew it —
before the face was turned, as it fell into shadow,
I knew who it was. Help came to me. I feel
sure help came to me. I did not sleep that night.
I put on my plainest things, — the cloak and hat I
have worn ever since ; and I sat watching for the
light and the sound of the doors being unbarred.
Some one rose early — at four o'clock to go to the
railway. That gave me courage. I slipped out
with my little bag under my cloak, and none

298 DANIEL DERONDA.

noticed me. I had been a long while attending to
the railway guide that I might learn the way to
England ; and before the sun had risen I was in
the train for Dresden. Then I cried for joy. I
did not know whether my money would last out,
but I trusted. I could sell the things in my bag,
and the little rings in my ears, and I could live
on bread only. My only terror was lest my father
should follow me. But I never paused. I came
on, and on, and on, only eating bread now and
then. When I got to Brussels I saw that I should
not have enough money, and I sold all that I could
sell ; but here a strange thing happened. Putting
my hand into the pocket of my cloak, T found a half -
napoleon. Wondering and wondering how it came
there, I remembered that on the way from Cologne
there was a young workman sitting against me. I
was frightened at every one, and did not like to be
spoken to. At first he tried to talk, but when he
saw that I did not like it, he left off. It was a long
journey ; I ate nothing but a bit of bread, and he
once offered me some of the food he brought in,
but I refused it. I do believe it was he who put
that bit of gold in my pocket. Without it I could
hardly have got to Dover, and I did walk a good
deal of the way from Dover to London. I knew I
should look like a miserable beggar-girl. I wanted
not to look very miserable, because if I found my
mother it would grieve her to see me so. But oh,
how vain my hope was that she would be there to
see me come ! As soon as I set foot in London, I
began to ask for Lambeth and Blackfriars Bridge,
but they were a long way off, and I went wrong.
At last I got to Blackfriars Bridge and asked for
Colman Street. People shook their heads. None

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 299

knew it. I saw it in my mind, — our doorsteps,
and the white tiles hung in the windows, and the
large brick building opposite with wide doors.
But there was nothing like it. At last when I
asked a tradesman where the Coburg Theatre and
Colman Street were, he said, ' Oh, my little
woman, that 's all done away with. The old
streets have been pulled down ; everything is new. '
I turned away, and felt as if death had laid a hand
on me. He said : ' Stop, stop ! young woman ;
what is it you 're wanting with Colman Street,
eh ? ' meaning well, perhaps. But his tone was
what I could not bear; and how could I tell him
what I wanted ? I felt blinded and bewildered with
a sudden shock. I suddenly felt that I was very
weak and weary, and yet where could I go ? for I
looked so poor and dusty, and had nothing with
me — I looked like a street-beggar. And I was
afraid of all places where I could enter. I lost my >
trust. I thought I was forsaken. It seemed tliat /
I had been in a fever of hope — delirious — all the
way from Prague ; I thought that I was helped,
and 1 did nothing but strain my mind forward and
think of finding my mother; and now — there I
stood in a strange world. All who saw me would
think ill of me, and I must herd with beggars. I
stood on the bridge and looked along the river.
People were going on to a steamboat. Many of
them seemed poor, and I felt as if it would be a
refuge to get away from the streets : perhaps the
boat would take me where I could soon get into
a solitude. 1 had still some pence left, and I
bought a loaf when I went on the boat. I wanted
to have a little time and strength to think of life
and death. How could I live ? And now again

300 DANIEL DERONDA.

it seemed that if ever I were to find my mother
again, death was the way to her. I ate, that I
might have strength to think. The boat set me
down at a phice along the river — I don't know
where — and it was Late in the evening. I found
some large trees apart from the road, and I sat
down under them that I might rest through the
night. Sleep must have soon come to me, and
when I awoke it was morning. The birds were
singing, the dew was white about me, I felt chill
and oh so lonely ! I got up and walked, and fol-
lowed the river a long way, and then turned back
again. There was no reason why I should go any-
where. The world about me seemed like a vision
that was hurrying by while I stood still with my
pain. My thoughts were stronger than 1 was :
they rushed in and forced me to see all my life
from the beginning ; ever since I was carried away
from my mother I had felt myself a lost child
taken up and used by strangers, who did not care
what my life was to me, but only what I could do
for them. It seemed all a weary wandering and
heart-loneliness, — as if I had been forced to go
to merry-makings without the expectation of joy.
And now it was worse. I was lost again, and I
dreaded lest any stranger should notice me and
speak to me. I had a terror of the world. None
knew me ; all would mistake me. I had seen so
many in my life who made themselves glad with
scorning, and laughed at another's shame. What
could I do ? This life seemed to be closing in
upon me with a wall of fire, — everywhere there
was scorching that made me shrink. The high
sunlight made me shrink. And I began to think
that my despair was the voice of God t'jlling me

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 301

to die. But it would take me long to die of hun-
ger. Then I thought of my People, how they had "^
been driven from land to land and been afflicted,
and multitudes had died of misery in their wan-
dering — was I the first ? And in the wars and
troubles when Christians were cruelest, our fathers
had sometimes slain their children and afterwards
themselves : it was to save them from being false
apostates. That seemed to make it right for me to -
put an end to my life ; for calamity had closed me
in too, and I saw no pathway but to evil. But my
mind got into war with itself, for there were con-
trary things in it. I knew that some had held it
wrong to hasten their own death, though they
were in the midst of flames ; and while I had some
strength left it was a longing to bear if I ought to
bear, — else where was the good of all my life ? It
had not been happy since the first years : when the
light came every morning, I used to think, ' I will
bear it. ' But always before 1 had some hope ;
now it was gone. With these thoughts I wan-
dered and wandered, inwardly crying to the Most
High, from whom I should not flee in death more
than in life, — though I had no strong faith that
He cared for me. The strength seemed departing
from my soul : deep below all my cries was the feel-
ing that I was alone and forsaken. The more I
thought the wearier I got, till it seemed I was not
thinking at all, but only the sky and the river and
the Eternal God were in my soul. And what was
it whether I died or lived ? If I lay down to die in
the river, was it more than lying down to sleep ? —
for there too I committed my soul — I gave myself
up. I could not hear memories any more : I could
only feel what was present in me, — it was all one

302 DANIEL DERONDA.

longing to cease from my weary life, which seemed
only a pain outside the great peace that I might
enter into. That was how it was. When the
evening came and the sun was gone, it seemed as
if that was all I had to wait for. And a new
strength came into me to will what I would do.
You know what I did. I was going to die. You
know what happened • — did he not tell you ?
Faith came to me again : I was not forsaken. He
told you how he found me ? "

Mrs. Meyrick gave no audible answer, but pressed
her lips against Mirah's forehead.

" She 's just a pearl : the mud has only washed
her," was the fervid little woman's closing com-
mentary when, tete-a-tete with Deronda in the back
parlour that evening, she had conveyed Mirah's
story to him with much vividness.

" What is your feeling about a search for this
mother ? " said Deronda. " Have you no fears ? I
have, I confess. "

" Oh, I believe the mother 's good, " said Mrs.
Meyrick, with rapid decisiveness ; " or ivas good.
She may be dead, — that 's my fear. A good
woman, you may depend : you may know it by the
scoundrel the father is. Where did the child get
her goodness from ? Wheaten Hour has to be
accounted for. "

Deronda was rather disappointed at this answer :
he had wanted a confirmation of his own judgment,
and he began to put in demurrers. The argument
about the mother would not apply to the brother,;
and Mrs. Meyrick admitted that the brother might
be an ugly likeness of the father. Then, as to
advertising, if the name was Cohen, you might as
well advertise for two uudcscribed terriers; and

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 303

here Mrs. Meyrick helped him, for the idea of an
advertisement, already mentioned to Mirah, had
roused the poor child's terror: she was convinced
that her father would see it, — he saw everything
in the papers. Certainly there were safer means
than advertising : men might be set to work whose
business it was to find inissing persons; but De-
ronda wished Mrs. Meyrick to feel with him that
it would be wiser to wait, before seeking a dubious
— perhaps a deplorable result; especially as he
was engaged to go abroad the next week for

'&"&

a

couple of months. If a search were made, he
would like to be at hand, so that Mrs. Meyrick
might not be unaided in meeting any consequences,
— supposing that she would generously continue
to watch over Mirah.

" We should be very jealous of any one who took
the task from us, " said Mrs. Meyrick. " She will
stay under my roof: there is Hans's old room for
her. "

" Will she be content to wait ? " said Deronda,
anxiously.

" No trouble there. It is not her nature to run
into planning and devising : only to submit. See
how she submitted to that father ! It was a won-
der to herself how she found the will and contriv-
ance to run away from him. About finding her
mother, her only notion now is to trust : since you
were sent to save her and we are good to her, she
trusts that her mother will be found in the same
unsought way. And when she is talking I catch
her feeling like a child. "

Mrs. Meyrick hoped that the sum Deronda put
into her hands as a provision for Mirah 's wants
was more than would be needed : after a little

304 DANIEL DERONDA.

while Mirah would perhaps like to occupy herself
as the other girls did, and make herself independ-
ent. Deronda pleaded that she must need a long
rest.

"Oh, yes; we will hurry nothing," said Mrs.
Meyrick. " Eely upon it, she shall be taken tender
care of. If you like to give me your address
abroad, I will write to let you know how we get
on. It is not fair that we should have all the
pleasure of her salvation to ourselves. And be-
sides, I want to make believe that I am doing
something for you as well as for Mirah. "

" That is no make-believe. What should I have
done without you last night? Everything would
have gone wrong, I shall tell Hans that the best
of having him for a friend is, knowing his mother. "

After that they joined the girls in the other
room, where Mirah was seated placidly, while
the others were telling her what they knew about
Mr. Deronda, — his goodness to Hans, and all the
virtues that Hans had reported of him.

" Kate burns a pastille before his portrait every
day, " said Mab. " And I carry his signature in a
little black-silk bag round my neck to keep off the
cramp. And Amy says the multiplication -table
in his name. We must all do something extra in
honour of him, now he has brought you to us. "

" I suppose he is too great a person to want any-
thing, " said Mirah, smiling at Mab and appealing
to the graver Amy. " He is perhaps very high in
the world?"

" He is very much above us in rank, " said Amy.
''' He is related to grand people. I dare say he
leans on some of the satin cushions we prick our
fingers over. "

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 305

" I am glad he is of high rank, " said Mirah,
with her usual quietness.

" Now, why are you glad of that ? " said Amy,
rather suspicious of this sentiment, and on the
watch for Jewish peculiarities which had not
appeared.

" Because I have always disliked men of high
rank before. "

" Oh, Mr. Deronda is not so very high, " said
Kate. " He need not hinder us from thinking ill
of the whole peerage and baronetage if we like. "

When he entered, Mirah rose with the same
look of grateful reverence that she had lifted to
him the evening before : impossible to see a crea-
ture freer at once from embarrassment and boldness.
Her theatrical training had left no recognizable
trace ; probably her manners had not much changed
since she played the forsaken child at nine years of
age ; and she had grown up in her simplicity and
truthfulness like a little tiower-seed that absorbs
the chance confusion of its surroundings into its
own definite mould of beauty. Deronda felt that
he was making acquaintance with something quite
new to him in the form of womanhood. For
Mirah was not childlike from ignorance : her ex-
perience of evil and trouble was deeper and stranger
than his own. He felt inclined to watch her and
listen to her as if she had come from a far-off shore
inhabited by a race different from our own.

But for that very reason he made his visit brief :
with his usual activity of imagination as to how
his conduct might affect others, he shrank from
what might seem like curiosity, or the assumption
of a right to know as much as he pleased of one to
whom he had done a service. For example he
VOL. I. — 20

3o6 DANIEL DERONDA.

would have liked to hear her sing, but he would
have felt the expression of such a wish to be a
rudeness in him, — since she could not refuse, and
he would all the while have a sense that she was
being treated like one whose accomplishments were
to be ready on demand. And whatever reverence
could be shown to woman, he was bent on showing
to this girl. Why ? He gave himself several good
reasons ; but whatever one does with a strong un-
hesitating outflow of will, has a store of motive
that it would be hard to put into words. Some
deeds seem little more than interjections which
give vent to the long passion of a life.

So Deronda soon took his farewell for the two
months during which he expected to be absent
from London, and in a few days he was on his way
with Sir Hugo and Lady Mallinger to Leubronn.

He had fulfilled his intention of telling them
about Mirah. The baronet was decidedly of opinion
that the search for the mother and brother had better
be let alone. Lady Mallinger was much interested
in the poor girl, observing that there was a Society
for the Conversion of the Jews, and that it was to
y be hoped Mirah would embrace Christianity ; but
perceiving that Sir Hugo looked at her with amuse-
ment, she concluded that she had said something
foolish. Lady Mallinger felt apologetically about
herself as a woman who had produced nothing but
daughters in a case where sons were required, and
hence regarded the apparent contradictions of the
world as probably due to the weakness of her own
understanding. But when she was much puzzled,
it was her habit to say to herself, " I will ask
Daniel. " Deronda was altogether a convenience
in the family ; and Sir Hugo too, after intending

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 307

to do the best for him, had begun to feel that the.
pleasantest result would be to have this substitute.
for a son always ready at his elbow. .-■f^.^^

This was the history of Deronda, so far as he
knew it, up to the time of that visit to Leubronn
in which he saw Gwendolen Harleth at the gaming-
table.

CHAPTEE XXL

'' It is a common sentence that Knowledge is power ; but who
hath duly considered or set forth the power of Ignorance 1
Knowledge slowly builds up what Ignorance in an hour pulls
down. Knowledge, through patient and frugal centuries, enlarges
discovery and makes record of it; Ignorance, Avanting its day's
dinner, lights a fire with the record, and gives a flavour to its one
roast witli the burnt souls of many generations. Knowledge,
instructing the sense, refining and multiplying needs, transforms
itself into skill and makes life various with a new six days' work ;
comes Ignorance drunk on the seventh, with a firkin of oil and a
match and an easy ' Let there not be ' — and the many-coloured
creation is shrivelled up in blackness. Of a truth. Knowledge is
power, but it is a power reined by scruple, having a conscience of
what must be and what may be ; whereas Ignorance is a blind
giant who, let him but wax unbound, would make it a sport
to seize the pillars that hold up the long-wrought fabric of
human good, and turn all the places of joy dark as a buried
Babylon. And looking at life parcel-wise, in the growth of a
single lot, who having a practised vision may not see that igno-
rance of the true bond between events, and false conceit of means
whereby sequences maybe compelled — like that falsity of eye-
sight which overlooks the gradations of distance, seeing that which
is afar off as if it were within a step or a grasp — precipitates the
mistaken soul on destruction 1 "

It was half -past ten in the morning when Gwendolen
Harleth, after her gloomy journey from Leubronn,
arrived at the station from which she must drive
to Offendene. No carriage or friend was awaiting
her, for in the telegram she had sent from Dover
she had mentioned a later train, and in her impa-
tience of lingering at a London station she had set
off without picturing what it would be to arrive
unannounced at half an hour's drive from home, —
at one of those stations v.'hich have been fixed on

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 309

not as near anywhere but as equidistant from
everywhere. Deposited as a feme sole with her
large trunks, and having to wait while a vehicle
was being got from the large-sized lantern called
the Eailway Inn, Gwendolen felt that the dirty
paint in the waiting-room, the dusty decanter of
flat water, and the texts in large letters calling on
her to repent and be converted, were part of the
dreary prospect opened by her family troubles ;
and she hurried away to the outer door looking
towards the lane and fields. But here the very
gleams of sunshine seemed melancholy, for the
autumnal leaves and grass were shivering, and the
wind was turning up the feathers of a cock and
two croaking hens which had doubtless parted
with their grown-up offspring and did not know
what to do with themselves. The railway official
also seemed without resources, and his innocent
demeanour in observing Gwendolen and her trunks
was rendered intolerable by the cast in his eye ;
especially since, being a new man, he did not
know her, and must conclude that she was not
very high in the world. The vehicle — a dirty
old barouche — was within sight, and was being
slowly prepared by an elderly labourer. Con-
temptible details these, to make part of a history ;
yet the turn of most lives is hardly to be accounted
for without them. They are continually entering
with cumulative force into a mood until it gets the
mass and momentum of a theory or a motive.
Even philosophy is not quite free from such de-
termining influences ; and to be dropt solitary at
an ugly irrelevant-looking spot with a sense of no
income on the mind, might vrell prompt a man to
discouraging speculation on the origin of things

310 DANIEL DERONDA.

and tlie reason of a world where a subtle thinker
found himself so badly off. How much more
might such trifles tell on a young lady equipped
for society with a fastidious taste, an Indian shawl
over her arm, some twenty cubic feet of trunks by
her side, and a mortal dislike to the new conscious-
ness of poverty which was stimulating her imagi-
nation of disagreeables ? At any rate, they told
heavily on poor Gwendolen, and helped to quell
her resistant spirit. What was the good of living
in the midst of hardships, ugliness, and humilia-
tion ? This was the beginning of being at home
again, and it was a sample of what she had to
expect.

Here was the theme on which her discontent
rung its sad changes during her slow drive in the
uneasy barouche, with one great trunk squeezing
the meek driver, and the other fastened with a
rope on the seat in front of her. Her ruling vision
all the way from Leubronn had been that the
family would go abroad again ; for of course there
must be some little income left, — her mamma did
not mean that they would have literally nothing.
To go to a dull place abroad and live poorly, was
the dismal future that threatened her: she had
seen plenty of poor English people abroad, and
imagined herself plunged in the despised dulness
of their ill-plenished lives, with Alice, Bertha,
Fanny, and Isabel all growing up in tediousness
around her, while she advanced towards thirty,
and her mamma got more and more melancholy.
But she did not mean to submit, and let misfor-
tune do what it would with her : she had not yet
quite believed in the misfortune ; l)ut weariness
and disgust with this wretched arrival had begun

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 311

to affect her like an uncomfortable waking worse
than the uneasy dreams which had gone before.
The self-delight with which she had kissed her
image in the glass had faded before the sense of
futility in being anything whatever — charming,
clever, resolute — what was the good of it all ?
Events might turn out anyhow, and men were
hateful. Yes, men were hateful. Those few words
were tilled out with very vivid memories. But in
these last hours a certain change had come over
their meaning. It is one thing to hate stolen
goods, and another thing to hate them the more
because their being stolen hinders us from making
use of them. Gwendolen had begun to be angry
with Grandcourt for being what had hindered her
from marrying him, angry with him as the cause
of her present dreary lot.

But the slow drive was nearly at an end, and
the lumbering vehicle coming up the avenue was
within sight of the windows. A figure appearing
under the portico brought a rush of new and less
selfish feeling in Gwendolen, and when spriugi'.ip:
from the carriage she saw the dear beautiful facj
with fresh lines of sadness in it, she threw her
arms round her mother's neck, and for the moment
felt all sorrows only in relation to her mother's
feeling about them.

Behind, of course, were the sad faces of the four
superfluous girls, each, poor thing — like those
other many thousand sisters of us all — having her
peculiar world which was of no importance to any
one else, but all of them feeling Gwendolen's pres-
ence to be somehow a relenting of misfortune :
where Gwendolen was, somethinjir interesting would
happen; even her hiuiied submission to their

312 DANIEL DERONDA.

kisses, and " Now go away, girls, " carried the sort
of comfort which all weakness finds in decision
and authoritativeness. Good Miss Merry, whose
air of meek depression, hitherto held nnaccoimt-
able in a governess affectionately attached to the
family, was now at the general level of circum-
stances, did not expect any greeting, but busied
herself with the trunks and the coachman's pay;
while Mrs. Davilow and Gwendolen hastened up-
stairs and shut themselves in the black and yellow
bedroom.

" Never mind, mamma dear, " said Gwendolen,
tenderly pressing her handkerchief against the tears
that were rolling down Mrs. Davilow 's cheeks.
" Never mind. I don't mind. I will do some-
thing. I will be something. Things will come
right. It seemed worse because I was away..
Come now ! you must be glad because I am here. " I

Gwendolen felt every word of that speech. A
rush of compassionate tendei-ness stirred all her
capability of generous resolution ; and the self-
confident projects which had vaguely glanced be-
fore her during her journey sprang instantaneously
into new definiteness. Suddenly she seemed to
perceive how she could be " something. " It was
one of her best moments ; and the fond mother,
forgetting everything below that tide-mark, looked
at her with a sort of adoration. She said, —
i " Bless you, my good, good darling ! I can be
happy, if you can ! "

But later in the day there was an ebb ; the old
slippery rocks, the old weedy places reappeared.
Naturally, there was a shrinking of courage as
misfortune ceased to be a mere announcement, and
began to disclose itself as a grievous tyrannical

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 313

inmate. At first — that ugly drive at an end — it
was still Offendene that Gwendolen had come
home to, and all surroundings of immediate con-
sequence to her were still there to secure her
personal ease ; the roomy stillness of the large
solid house while she rested ; all the luxuries of
her toilet cared for without trouble to her ; and a
little tray with her favourite food brought to her
in private. For she had said, " Keep them all
away from us to-day, mamma. Let you and me
be alone together. "

When Gwendolen came down into the drawing-
room, fresh as a newly dipped swan, and sat lean-
ing against the cushions of the settee beside her
mamma, their misfortune had not yet turned its
face and breath upon her. She felt prepared to
hear everything, and began in a tone of deliberate
intention, —

" What have you thought of doing exactly,
mamma ? "

" Oh, my dear, the next thing to be done is to
move away from this house. Mr. Haynes mopt
fortunately is as glad to have it now as he would
have been when we took it. Lord Brackenshaw's
agent is to arrange everything with him to the
best advantage for us : Bazley, you know ; not at
all an ill-natured man. "

" I cannot help thinking that Lord Erackensliaw
would let you stay here rent-f I'ec, mamma, " said
Gwendolen, whose talents had not been applied to
business so much as to discernment of the admira-
tion excited by her charms.

" My dear child, Lord Brackenshaw is in Scot-
land, and knows nothing about us. Neither your
uncle nor I would choose to apply to him. Be-

314 DANIEL DERONDA.

sides, what could we do in this house without
servants, and without money to warm it ? The
sooner we are out the better. We have nothing to
carry but our clothes, you know ? "

" I suppose you mean to go abroad, then ? " said
Gwendolen. After all, this is what she had famil-
iarized her mind with.

r "Oh, no, dear, no. How could we travel ? You
liever did learn anything about income and ex-
penses," said Mrs. Davilow, trying to smile, and
.putting her hand on Gwendolen's as she added
[mournfully, " That makes it so much harder for
you, my pet."

" But where are we to go ? " said Gwendolen,
with a trace of sharpness in her tone. She felt a
new current of fear passing through her.

" It is all decided. A little furniture is to be got
in from the rectory, — all that can be spared. "
Mrs. Davilow hesitated. She dreaded the reality
for herself less than the shock she must give
Gwendolen, who looked at her with tense expec-
tancy, but was silent.

" It is Sawyer's Cottage we are to go to. "

At first Gwendolen remained silent, paling with
anger, — justifiable anger, in her opinion. Then
she said with haughtiness, —

" That is impossible. Something else than that
ought to have been thought of. My uncle ought
not to allow that. I will not submit to it. "

" My sweet child, what else could have been
thought of ? Your uncle, I am sure, is as kind as
he can be ; but he is suffering himself : he has his
family to bring up. And do you quite understand ?
You must remember — we have nothing. We shall
have absolutely nulhiug except what he and my

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 315

sister give us. They have been as wise and active
as possible, and we must try to earn something.
I and the girls are going to work a table-cloth
border for the Ladies' Charity at Wanchester, and
a communion cloth that the parishioners are to
present to Pennicote Church. "

Mrs. Davilow went into these details timidly ;
but how else was she to bring the fact of their
position home to this poor child, who, alas! must'
submit at present, whatever might be in the back-
ground for her ; and she herself had a superstition
that there must be something better in the back-,
ground.

" But surely somewhere else than Sawyer's
Cottage might have been found, " Gwendolen per-
sisted, taken hold of (as if in a nightmare) by
the image of this house where an exciseman had
lived.

" No, indeed, dear. You know houses are scarce,
and we may be thankful to get anything so pri-
vate. It is not so very bad. There arc two little
parlours and four bedrooms. You shall sit alone
whenever you like. "

The ebb of sympathetic care for her mamma had
gone so low just now, that Gwendolen took no
notice of these deprecatory words. /

" I cannot conceive that all your property is '
gone at once, mamma. How can you be sure in so
short a time ? It is not a week since you wrote to |
me."

" The first news came much earlier, dear. But
I would not spoil your pleasure till it was quite
necessary. "

" Oh, how vexatious ! " said Gwendolen, colour-
ing with fresh anger. " If I had known, I could

31 6 DANIEL DERONDA.

have brought home the money I had won ; and for
want of knowing, I stayed and lost it. I had
nearly two hundred pounds, and it would have
done for us to live on a little while, till I could
carry out some plan. " She paused an instant, and
then added more impetuously, " Everything has
gone against me. People have come near me only
to blight me. "

Among the " people " she was including De-
ronda. If he had not interfered in her life, she
w^ould have gone to the gaming-table again with a
few napoleons, and might have won back her
losses.

"We must resign ourselves to the will of Provi-
dence, my child, " said poor Mrs. Davilow, startled
by this revelation of the gambling, but not daring
to say more. She felt sure that " people " meant
Grandcourt, about whom her lips were sealed.
And Gwendolen answered immediately, —

" But I don't resign myself. I shall do what I
can against it. What is the good of calling peo-
ple's wickedness Providence? You said in your
letter it was Mr. Lassmann's fault we had lost our
money. Has he run away with it all ? "

" No, dear, you don't understand. There were
great speculations : he meant to gain. It was all
about mines and things of that sort. He risked
too much. "

"I don't call that Providence: it was his im-
providence with our money, and he ought to be
punished. Can't we go to law and recover our
fortune ? My uncle ought to take measures, and
not sit down by such wrongs. We ought to go to
law. "

" My dear child, law can never bring back

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 317

money lost in that way. Your uncle says it is
milk spilt upoii the ground. Besides, one must
have a fortune to get any law : there is no law for
people who are ruined. And our money has only
gone along with other people's. We are not the
only sufferers : others have to resign themselves
besides us. "

" But I don't resign myself to live at Sawyer's
Cottage and see you working for sixpences and
shillings because of that. I shall not do it. I
shall do what is more befitting our rank and
education. "

"I am sure your uncle and all of us will approve
of that, dear, and admire you the more for it, "
said Mrs. Davilow, glad of an unexpected opening
for speaking on a difficult subject. " I did n't mean
that you should resign yourself to worse when
anything better offered itself. Both your uncle
and aunt have felt that your abilities and educa-
tion were a fortune for you, and they have already
heard of something within your reach. "

" What is that, mamma ? " Some of Gwen-
dolen's anger gave way to interest, and she was
not without romantic conjectures.

" There are two situations that offer themselves.
One is in a bishop's family, where there are three
daughters, and the other is in quite a high class of
school ; and in both, your French and music and
dancing — and then your manners and habits as a
lady, are exactly what is wanted. Each is a liun-
dred a-year — and — just for the present, " — Mrs.
Davilow had become frightened and hesitating, —
to save you from the petty, common way of living
that we must go to — you would perhaps accept
one of the two. "

3i8 DANIEL DERONDA.

" What ! be like Miss Graves at Madame
Meunier's? No."

" I think, myself, that Dr. Mompert's would be
more suitable. There could be no hardship in a
bishop's family. "

" Excuse me, mamma. There are hardships
everywhere for a governess. And I don't see that
it would be pleasanter to be looked down on in a
bishop's family than in any other. Besides, you
know very well I hate teaching. Fancy me shut
up with three awkward girls something like Alice!
I would rather emigrate than be a governess. "

What it precisely was to emigrate, Gwendolen
was not called on to explain. Mrs. Davilow was
mute, seeing no outlet, and thinking with dread of
the collision that might happen when Gwendolen
had to meet her uncle and aunt. There was an
air of reticence in Gwendolen's haughty resistant
speeches, which implied that she had a definite
plan in reserve ; and her practical ignorance, con-
tinually exhibited, could not nullify the mother's
belief in the effectiveness of that forcible will and
daring which had held the mastery over herself.

" I have some ornaments, mamma, and I could
sell them," said Gwendolen. " They would make a
sum: I want a little sum — just to go on with. I
dare say Marshall at Wanchester would take them :
I know he showed me some bracelets once that he
said he had bought from a lady. Jocosa might go
and ask him. Jocosa is going to leave us, of course.
But she might do that first."

" She would do anything she could, poor dear
soul. I have not told you yet — she wanted me to
take nil her savings — her three hundred pounds.
I tell her to set up a little school. It will be hard

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 319

for her to go into a new family now she has been so
long with us."

" Oh, recommend her for the bishop's daughters,"
said Gwendolen, with a sudden gleam of laughter
in her face. " I am sure she will do better than I
should."

"Do take care not to say such things to your
uncle," said Mrs. Davilow. "He will be hurt at
your despising what he has exerted himself about.
But I dare say you have something else in your
mind that he might not disapprove, if you consulted
him."

" There is some one else I want to consult first.
Are the Arrowpoints at Quetcham still, and is Herr
Klesmer there ? But I dare say you know nothing
about it, poor dear mamma. Can Jeffries go on
horseback with a note ? "

" Oh, my dear, Jeffries is not here, and the dealer
has taken the horses. But some one could go for
us from Leek's farm. The Arrowpoints are at
Quetcham, I know. Miss Arrowpoint left her card
the other day : I could not see her. But I don't
know about Herr Klesmer. Do you want to send
before to-morrow ? "

" Yes, as soon as possible. I will write a note,"
said Gwendolen, rising.

" What can you be thinking of, Gwen ? " said
Mrs. Davilow, relieved in the midst of her wonder-
ment by signs of alacrity and better humour.

" Don't mind what, there 's a dear good mamma,"
said Gwendolen, reseating herself a moment to give
atoning caresses, " I mean to do something. Never
mind what, until it is all settled. And then you
shall be comforted. The dear face !-^ it is ten
years older in these three weeks. Now, now, now !

3^^^.^^-^^ ^^""'"^

0 .

320 DANIEL DEKONDA.

— don't cry " — Gwendolen, holding her mamma's
head with both hands, kissed the trembling eyelids.
" But mind you don't contradict me or put hin-
drances in my way. I mast decide for myself. I
cannot be dictated to by my uncle or any one
else. My life is my own affair. And I think " —
here her tone took an edge of scorn — "I think I
can do better for you than let you live in Sawyer's
Cottage."

In uttering this last sentence Gwendolen again
rose, and went to a desk, where she wrote the follow-
ing note to Klesmer : —

'' Miss Harleth presents her compliments to Herr
Klesmer, and ventures to request of him the very great
favour that he will call upon her if possible to-morrow.
Her reason for presuming so far on his kindness is of
a very serious nature. Unfortunate family circum-
stances have obliged her to take a course in which she
can only turn for advice to the great knowledge and
judgment of Herr Klesmer."

" Pray get this sent to Quetcham at once, mamma,"
said Gwendolen, as she addressed the letter. " The
man must be told to wait for an answer. Let no
time be lost."

For the moment the absorbing purpose was to get
the letter despatched ; but when she had been assured
on this point, another anxiety arose and kept her
in a state of uneasy excitement. If Klesmer hap-
pened not to be at Quetcham, what could she do next ?
Gwendolen's belief in her star, so to speak, had had
some bruises. Things had gone against her. A
splendid marriage which presented itself within
reacli had shown a hideous flaw. The chances of
roulette had not adjusted themselves to her claims ;_

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 321

aud a man of whom she knew nothing had thrust
himself between her and lier intentions. The con-
duct of those uniiiteresting people^ wTio managed the
business of the world had been culpable just in the
points most injurious to her in particular. Gwen-
dolen Harleth, with all her beauty and conscious
force, felt the close threats of humiliation : for the
first time the conditions of this world seemed to her
like a hurrying roaring crowd in which she had got
astray, no more cared for and protected than a myr-
iad of other girls, in spite of its being a peculiar
hardship to her. If Klesmer were not at Quetcham
— that would be all of a piece with the rest: the
unwelcome negative urged itself as a probability,
and set her brain working at desperate alterna-
tives which might deliver her from Sawyer's Cottage
or the ultimate necessity of " taking a situation," a
phrase that summed up for her the disagreeables
most wounding to her pride, most irksome to her
tastes ; at least so far as her experience enabled her
to imagine disagreeables.

Still Klesmer might be there, and Gwendolen
thought of the result in that case with a hopeful-
ness which even cast a satisfactory light over her
peculiar troubles, as what might well enter into the
biography of celebrities and remarkable persons.
And if she had heard her immediate acquaintances
cross-examined as to whether they thought her
remarkable, the first who said " No " would have
surprised her.

VOL. I. — 21

CHAPTER XXII.

" We please our faucy with ideal webs
Of iunovatiou, but our life meanwhile
Is in tlic loom, where busy passion plies
Tlie shuttle to and fro, and gives our deeds
The accustomed pattern."

Gwendolen's note, coming " pat betwixt too early
and too late," was put into Klesmer's hands just
when he was leaving Quetcham, and in order to
meet her appeal to his kindness he with some in-
convenience to himself spent the night at Wan-
chester. There were reasons why he would not
remain at Quetcham.

That magnificent mansion, fitted with regard to
the greatest expense, had in fact become too ho<" fnr
him, its owners having, like some great politicians,
been astonished at.-an. insurrection against the es-
tablished order of things, which we plain people
after the event can perceive to have been prepared
under their very noses.

There were as usual many guests in the house,
and among them one in whom Miss Arrowpoiut
foresaw a new pretender to her hand : a political
man of good family who confidently expected a peer-
age, and felt on public grounds that he required a
larger fortune to support the title properly. Heir-
esses vary, and persons interested in one of them
beforehand are prepared to find that she is too yel-
low or too red, tall and toppling or short and square,
violent and capricious or moony and insipid; but iu

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 323

every case it is taken for granted that she will con-
sider herself an appendage to her fortune, and marry
where others think her fortune ought to go. Nature,
however, not only accommodates herself ill to our
favourite practices by making " only children "
daughters, but also now and then endows the mis-
placed daughter with a clear head and a strong will.
The Arrowpoints had already felt some anxiety ow-
ing to these endowments of their Catherine. She
would not accept the^ view of her social duty which
required her to marry a needy nobleman or a com-
moner on the ladder towards nobility ; and they were
not without uneasiness concerning her persistence
in declining suitable offers. As to the possibility
of her being in love with Klesmer they were not at
all uneasy, — a very common sort of blindness. For
in general mortals have a great power of being as-
tonished at the presence of an effect towards which
they have done everything, and at the absence of
an effect towards which they have done nothing but
desire it. Parents are astonished at the ignorance
of their sons, though they have used the most time-
honoured and expensive means of securing it ; hus-
bands and wives are mutually astonished at the
loss of affection which they have taken no pains
to keep ; and all of us in our turn are apt to be
astonished that our neighbours do not admire us.
In this way it happens that the truth seems highly
improbable. The truth is something different from
the habitual lazy coml>inations begotten by our
wishes. The Arrowpoints' hour of astonishment
was come.

When there is a passion between an heiress and
a proud independent-spirited man, it is difficult for
them to come to an understanding ; but the difficul-

324 DANIEL DERONDA.

ties are likely to be overcome unless the proud man
secures himself by a constant alihi. Brief meetings
after studied absence are potent in disclosure : but
more potent still is frequent companionship, with
full sympathy in taste, and admirable qualities on
both sides ; especially where the one is in the posi-
tion of teacher, and the other is delightedly conscious
of receptive ability which also gives the teacher
delight. The situation is famous in history, and
has no less charm now than it had in the days of
Abelard.

But this kind of comparison had not occurred to
the Arrowpoints when they first engaged Klesmer
to come down to Quetcham. To have a first-rate
musician in your house is a privilege of wealth ;
Catherine's musical talent demanded every advan-
tage ; and she particularly desired to use her quieter
time in the coimtry for more thorough study. Kles-
mer was not yet a Liszt, understood to be adored
by ladies of all European countries with the excep-
tion of Lapland ; and even with that understanding
it did not follow that he would make proposals to
an heiress. No musician of honour would do so.
Still less was it conceivable that Catherine would
give him the slightest pretext for such daring.
The large check that Mr. Arrowpoiiit was to draw
in Klesmer's name seemed to make him as safe an
inmate as a footman. Where marriage is incon-
ceivable, a girl's sentiments are safe.

Klesmer was eminently a man of honour ; but
marriages rarely begin with formal proposals, and
moreover, Catherine's limit of the conceivable did
not exactly correspond with her mother's.

Outsiders might have been more apt to think
that Klesmer's position was dangerous for himself

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 325

if Miss Arrowpoint had been an acknowledged
beauty ; not taking into account that the most
powerful of all beauty is that which reveals itself
after sympathy and not before it. There is a
charm of eye and lip which comes with every little
phrase that certifies delicate perception or fine judg-
ment, with every unostentatious word or smile that
shows a heart awake to others; and no sweep of
garment or turn of figure is more satisfying than
that which enters as a restoration of confidence
that one person is present on whom no intention
will be lost. What dignity of meaning goes on
gathering in frowns and laughs which are never
observed in the wrong place; what suffused ador-
ableness in a human frame where there is a mind
that can fl.ash out comprehension and hands that
can execute finely ! The more obvious beauty, also
adorable sometimes, — one may say it witliout
blasphemy, — begins by being an apology for folly,
and ends like other apologies in becoming tiresome
by iteration ; and that Klesmer, though very suscep-
tible to it, sliould have a passionate attachment to
Miss Arrowpoint, was no more a paradox than any
other triumph of a manifold sympathy over a
monotonous attraction. We object less to be taxed
with the enslaving excess of our passions than with 1
our deficiency in wider passion ; but if the trutli I
were known, our reputed intensity is often the dul- j
ness of not knowing what else to do with ourselves.
Tannhiiuser, one suspects, was a knight of ill-
furnished imagination, hardly of larger discourse
than a heavy Guardsman; Merlin had certainly
seen his best days, and was merely repeating him-
self, when he fell into that hopeless captivity ; and
we know that Ulysses felt so manifest an enmci

/

326 DANIEL DERONDA.

under similar circumstances that Calypso herself
furthered his departure. There is indeed a report
that he afterwards left Penelope ; but since she was
habitually absorbed in worsted work, and it was
probably from her that Telemachus got his mean,
pettifogging disposition, always anxious about the
property and the daily consumption of meat, no
inference can be drawn from this already dubious
scandal as to the relation between companionship
and constancy.

Klesmer was as versatile and fascinating as a
young Ulysses on a sufficient acquaintance, — one
whom nature seemed to have first made generously
and then to have added music as a dominant power
using all the abundant rest, and, as in Mendelssolin,
finding expression for itself not only in the highest
finish of execution, but in that fervour of creative
work and theoretic belief which pierces the whole
future of a life with the light of congruous, devoted
purpose. His foibles of arrogance and vanity did
not exceed such as may be found in the best Eng-
lish families ; and Catherine Arrowpoint liad no
corresponding restlessness to clash with his : not-
withstanding her native kindliness she was perhaps
too coijlly firm and self-sustained. But she was
one of those satisfactory creatures whose inter-
course has the charm of discovery ; whose integrity
of faculty and expression begets a wish to know
what tliey will say on all subjects or how they will
perform whatever they undertake ; so that they end
by raising not only a continual expectation, but a
continual sense of fulfilment, — the systole and
diastole of blissful companionship. In such cases
tli'i outward presentment easily becomes what tlie
image is to the worshipper. It was not long before

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 327

the two became aware that each was interesting to
the other ; but the " how far " remained a matter of
doubt. Klesmer did not conceive that Miss Arrow-
point was likely to think of him as a possible lover,
and she was not accustomed to think of herself as
likely to stir more than a friendly regard, or to fear
the expression of more from any man who was not
enamoured of her fortune. Each was content to
suffer some unshared sense of denial for the sake
of loving the other's society a little too well; and
under these conditions no need had been felt to
restrict Klesmer's visits for the last year either in
country or in town. He knew very well that if
Miss Arrowpoint had been poor he would have
made ardent love to her instead of sending a storm
through the piano, or folding his arms and pouring
out a hyperbolical tirade about something as imper-
sonal as the north pole ; and she was not less aware
that if it had been possible for Klesmer to wish for
her hand she would have found overmastering rea-
sons for giving it to him. Here was the safety of
full cups, which are as secure from overflow as the
half-empty, always supposing no disturbance. Nat-
urally, silent feeling had not remained at the same
point any more than the stealthy dial-hand, and in
the present visit to Quetcham, Klesmer had begun
to think that he would not come again ; while
Catherine was more sensitive to his frequent
hrusquerie, which she rather resented as a needless
effort to assert his footing of superior in every sense
except the conventional.

Meanwhile enters the expectant peer, Mr. Bult,
an esteemed party man who, rather neutral in
private life, had strong opinions concerning the
districts of the Niger, was much at home also in

328 DANIEL DERONDA. "^

the Brazils, spoke with decision of affairs in the
South Seas, was studious of his Parliamentary and
itinerant speeches, and had the general solidity and
suffusive pinkness of a healthy Briton on the cen-
tral table-land of life. Catherine, aware of a tacit
understanding that he was an undeniable husband
for an heiress, had nothing to say against him but
that he was thoroughly tiresome to her. Air. Bult
was amiably confident, and had no idea that his
insensibility to counterpoint could ever be reckoned
against him. Klesmer he hardly regarded in the
liQ-ht of a serious human being who oucfht to have
a vote ; and he did not mind Miss Arrowpoint's
addiction to music any more than her probable
expenses in antique lace. He was consequently a
little amazed at an after-dinner outburst of Kles-
mer's on the lack of idealism in English politics,
which left all mutuality between distant races to
be determined simply by the need of a market: the
crusades, to his mind, had at least this excuse, that
they had a banner of sentiment round which gen-
erous feelings could rally : of course, the scoundrels
rallied too, but what then ? they rally in equal force
round your advertisement van of " Buy cheap,
sell dear." On this theme Klesmer's eloquence,
gesticulatory and other, went on for a little while
like stray fireworks accidentally ignited, and then
sank into immovable silence. Mr. Bult was not
surprised that Klesmer's opinions should be fiighty,
but was astonished at his command of English
idiom and his ability to put a point in a way
that would have told at a constituents' dinner, — to
be accounted for probably by his being a Pole, or a
Czech, or something of that fermenting sort, in a
state of political refugeeism wliich had obliged him

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 329

to make a profession of his music ; and that even-
ins ill the drawing-room he for the first time went
up to Klesmer at the piano, Miss Arrowpoint being
near, and said, —

" I had no idea before that you were a pohtical
man."

Klesmer's only answer was to fold his arms, put
out his nether lip, and stare at Mr. Bult.

" You must have been used to public speaking.
You speak uncommonly well, though I don't agree
with you. From what you said about sentiment, I
fancy you are a Pajiskyist."

" No ; my name_is Elijah. I am the Wandering
Jew," said Klesmer, flashing a smile at Miss Arrow-
poTnt^'and suddenly making a mysterious wind-like
rush backwards and forwards on the piano. Mr.
Bult felt this buffoonery rather offensive and Polish,
but — Miss Arrowpoint being there — did not like
to move away.

" Herr Klesmer has cosmopolitan ideas," said Miss
Arrowpoint, trying to make the best of the situa-
tion. " He looks forward to a fusion of races."

"With all my heart," said Mr. Bult, willing to
be gracious. "I was sure he had too much talent
to be a mere musician."

" Ah, sir, you are under some mistake there," said
Klesmer, firing up. " No man has too much talent
to be a musician. Most men have too little. A
creative artist is no more a mere musician than a
great statesman is a mere politician. We are not
ingenious puppets, sir, who live in a box and look
out on the world only when it is gaping for amuse-
ment. We help to rule the nations and make the
age as much as any other public men. We count
ourselves on level benches with legislators. And a

330 DANIEL DERONDA.

man who speaks effectively through music is com-
pelled to something more difficult than parliamentary
eloquence."

With the last word Klesmer wheeled from the
piano and walked away.

Miss Arrowpoint coloured, and Mr. Bult observed
with his usual phlegmatic stolidity, " Your pianist
does not think small beer of himself."

" Herr Klesmer is something more than a pianist,"
said Miss Arrowpoint, apologetically. " He is a
great musician in the fullest sense of the word.
He will rank with Schubert and Mendelssohn."

"Ah, you ladies understand these things," said
Mr. Bult, none the less convinced that these things
were frivolous because Klesmer had shown himself
a coxcomb.

Catherine, always sorry when Klesmer gave him-
self airs, found an opportunity the next day in the
music-room to say, " Why were you so heated last
night with Mr. Bult ? He meant no harm."

" You wish me to be complaisant to him ? " said
Klesmer, rather fiercely.

" I think it is hardly worth your while to be
other than civil."

" You find no difficulty in tolerating him, then ?
— you have a respect for a political platitudinarian
as insensible as an ox to everything he can't turn
into political capitaL You think his monumental
obtuseness suited to the dignity of the English
gentleman."

" I did not say that."
p- " You mean that I acted without dignity and you
fare offended with me."

; " Now you are slightly nearer the truth," said
Catherine, smiling.

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 331

" Then I had better put my burial-clothes in my
portmanteau and set off at once."

" I don't see that. If I have to bear your /
criticism of my operetta, you should not mind my
criticism of your impatience."

" But I do mind it. You would have wished me
to take his ignorant impertinence about a ' mere\
musician ' without letting him know his place. I
am to hear my gods blasphemed as well as myself
insulted. But I beg pardon. It is impossible you
should see the matter as I do. Even you can't
understand the wrath of the artist : he is of another
castelor you."

"That is true," said Catherine, with some betrayal
of feeling. " He is of a caste to which 1 look up, —
a caste above mine."

Klesmer, who had been seated at a table looking
over scores, started up and walked to a little dis-
tance, from which he said, —

"That is finely felt, — I am grateful. But I had
better go, all the same. I have made up my mind
to go^for ^oqd and all. You can get on exceedingly
well without me : your operetta is on wheels, — it
will go of itself. And your Mr. Bult's company fits
me 'wie die Faust ins Auge.' I am neglecting my
engagements. I must go off to St. Petersburg."

There was no answer.

" You agree with me that I had better go ? " said
Klesmer, with some irritation.

" Certainly ; if that is what your business and
feeling prompt. I have only to wonder that you
have consented to give us so nuich of your time in
the last year. There must be treble the interest to
you anywhere else. I have never thought of your
consenting to come here as anything else than a
sacrifice."

^

332 DANIEL DERONDA.

" Why should I make the sacrifice ? " said Kles-
mer, going to seat himself at the piano, and touching
the keys so as to give with the delicacy of an echo
in the far distance a melody which he had set to
Heine's " Ich hab' dich geliebet und liebe dich
noch."

" That is the mystery," said Catherine, not wanting
to affect anything, but from mere agitation. From
the same cause she was tearing a piece of paper into
minute morsels, as if at a task of utmost multipli-
cation imposed by a cruel fairy.

" You can conceive no motive ? " said Klesmer,
folding his arms.

" None that seems in the least probable."

" Then I shall tell you. It is because you are to
me the chief woman in the world, — the throned
lady whose colours I carry between my heart and
my armour."

Catherine's hands trembled so much that she
could no longer tear the paper ; still less could her
lips utter a word. Klesmer went on, —

" This would be the last impertinence in me, if I

meant to found anything upon it. That is out of

the question. I mean no such thing. But you

once said it was your doom to suspect every man

who courted you of being an adventurer, and what

made you angriest was men's imputing to you the

; folly of believing that they courted you for your

\ own sake. Did you not say so ? "

v., « Very likely," was the answer, in a low murmur.

" It was a bitter word. Well, at least one man
who has seen women as plenty as flowers in May,
has lingered about you for your own sake. And
since he is one whom you can never marry, you
will believe him. Tliat is an argument in favour of
some other man. But don't give yourself for a

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 333

meal to a minotaur like Bult. I shall go now and
pack. I shall make my excuses to Mrs. Arrow-
point." Klesmer rose as he ended, and walked
quickly towards the door.

" You must take this heap of manuscript, then,"
said Catherine, suddenly making a desperate effort.
She had risen to fetch the heap from another table.
Klesmer came back, and they had the length of the
folio sheets between them.

•'Why should I not marry the man who loves me,
if I love him ? " said Catherine. To her the effort
was Something like the leap of a woman from the
deck into the lifeboat.

"It would be too hard — impossible — you could
not carry it through. I am not worth what you
would have to encounter. I will not accept the
sacrifice. It would be thought a mesalliance for you,
and I should be liable to the worst accusations."

" Is it the accusations you are afraid of ? I am
afraid of nothing but that we should miss the pass-
ing of our lives tooether."

The decisive word had been spoken : there was
no doubt concerning the end willed by each : there
only remained the way of arriving at it, and Cather-
ine determined to take the straightest possible. She
went to her father and mother in the library, and
told them that she had promised to marry Klesmer.

Mrs. Arrowpoint's state of mind was pitiable.
Imagine Jean Jacques, after his essay on the
corrupting influence of the arts, waking up among
children of nature who had no idea of grilling the
raw bone they offered him for breakfast with the
primitive flint knife ; or Saint Just, after fervidly
denouncing all recognition of pre-eminence, receiv-
ing a vote of thanks for the unbroken mediocrity of

334 DANIEL DERONDA.

his speech, which warranted the dullest patriots in
delivering themselves at equal length. Something
of the same sort befell the authoress of " Tasso,"
when what she had safely demanded of the dead
Leonora was enacted by her own Catherine. It is
liard for us to live up to our own eloquence, and
keep pace with our winged words, while we are
treading the solid earth and are liable to heavy
dining. Besides, it has long been understood that
the proprieties of literature are not those of prac-
tical life. Mrs. Arrowpoint naturally wished for
the best of everything. She not only liked to feel
herself at a higher level of literary sentiment than
the ladies with whom she associated ; she wished
not to be below them in any point of social consid-
eration. While Klesmer was seen in the light of a
patronized musician, his peculiarities were pictu-
resque and acceptable ; but to see him by a sudden
flash in the light of her son-in-law gave her a
burning sense of what the world would say. And
the poor lady had been used to represent her Cath-
erine as a model of excellence.

Under the first shock she forgot everything but her
anger, and snatched at any phrase that would serve
as a weapon.

" If Klesmer has presumed to offer himself to you,
your father shall horsewhip him off the premises.
Pray speak, Mr. Arrowpoint."

The father took his cigar from his mouth, and rose
to the occasion by saying, " This will never do, Cath."

" Do ! " cried Mrs. Arrowpoint ; " who in their
senses ever thought it would do ? You might as
well say poisoning and strangling will not do. It
is a comedy you have got up, Catherine. Else you
are mad."

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 335

" I am quite sane and serious, mamma, and Herr
Klesmer is not to blame. He never thought of my
marrying him. I found out that he loved me, and
loving him, I told him 1 would marry him."

" Leave that unsaid, Catherine," said Mrs.
Arrowpoint, bitterly. " Every one else will say it
for you. You will be a public fable. Every one
will say that you must have made the offer to a
man who has been paid to come to the house — who .
is nobody knows what — a gypsy, a Jew, a mere ^
bubble of the earth."

" Never mind, mamma," said Catherine, indignant
in her turn. " We all know he is a genius — as
Tasso was."

" Those times were not these, nor is Klesmer
Tasso," said Mrs. Arrowpoint, getting more heated.
" There is no sting in tlmt sarcasm, except the sting
of undutifulness."

"I am sorry to hurt you, mamma. But I will
not give up the happiness of my life to ideas that I
don't believe in and customs 1 have no respect.''"'
for."

" You have lost all sense of duty, then ? You
have forgotten that you are our only child, — that it
lies with you to place a great property in the right
hands ? "

" What are the right hands ? My grandfather
gained the property in trade."

" Mr. Arrowpoint, will you sit by and hear this
without speaking ? "

" I am a gentleman, Cath. We expect you to
marry a gentleman," said the father, exerting
himself.

" And a man connected with the institutions of
this country," said the mother. " A woman in your

336 DANIEL DERONDA.

position has serious duties. Where duty and incli-
nation clash, she must follow duty."

" I don't deny that." said Catherine, getting colder
in proportion to her mother's heat. " But one may
say very true things and apply them falsely. People
can easily take the sacred word duty as a name for
what they desire any one else to do."

" Your parent's desire makes no duty for you,
then ? "

" Yes, within reason. But before I give up the
happiness of my life — "

" Catherine, Catherine, it will not be your happi-
ness," said Mrs. Arrowpoint, in her most raven-like
tones.

" Well, what seems to me ray happiness — before
I give it up, I must see some better reason than the
wish that I should marry a nobleman, or a man
who votes with a party that he may be turned into
a nobleman. I feel at liberty to marry the man I
love and think worthy, unless some higher duty
forbids."

" And so it does, Catherine, though you are
bHnded and cannot see it. It is a woman's duty
not to lower herself. You are lowering yourself.
Mr. Arrowpoint, will you tell your daughter what
is her duty ? "

" You must see, Catherine, that Klesmer is not
the man for you," said Mr. Arrowpoint. " He won't
do at the head of estates. He has a deuced foreign
look, — is an unpractical man."

" I really can't see what that has to do with it,
papa. The land of England has often passed into
the hands of foreigners, — Dutch soldiers, sons of
foreign women of bad character : if our land
were sold to-morrow, it would very likely pass into

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 337

the hands of some foreign merchant on 'Change.
It is in everybody's mouth that successful swindlers
may buy up half the land in the country. How-
can I stem that tide ? "

" It will never do to argue about marriage, Cath,"
said Mr. Arrowpoint. " It 's no use getting up the
subject like a parliamentary question. We must do
as other people do. We must think of the nation
and the public good."

"I can't see any public good concerned here,
papa," said Catherine. " Why is it to be expected
of an heiress that she should carry the property
gained in trade into the hands of a certain class ?
That seems to me a ridiculous mish-mash of super-
annuated customs and false ambition. I should call
it a public evil. People had better make a new sort
of public good by changing their ambitions."

" That is mere sophistry, Catherine," said Mrs.
Arrowpoint. " Because you don't wish to marry a
nobleman, you are not obliged to marry a mounte-
bank or a charlatan."

" I cannot understand the application of such
words, mamma."

" No, I dare say not," rejoined Mrs. Arrowpoint,
with significant scorn. " You have got to a pitcli
at which we are not likely to understand each
other."

" It can't be done, Cath," said Mr. Arrowpoint,
wishing to substitute a better-humoured reasoning
for his wife's impetuosity. " A man like Klesmer
can't marry such a property as yours. It can't be
done."

" It certainly will not be done," said Mrs. Arrow-
point, imperiously. " Where is the man ? Let
him be fetched."
VOL. I. — 22

338 DANIEL DERONDA.

" I cannot fetch him to be insulted," said Cathe-
rine. " Nothing will be achieved by that."

" I suppose you would wish him to know that in
marrying you he will not marry your fortune," said
Mrs. Arrowpoint.

" Certainly ; if it were so, I should wish him to
know it."

" Then you had better fetch him."

Catherine only went into the music-room and
said, " Come : " she felt no need to prepare Klesmer.

" Herr Klesmer," said Mrs. Arrowpoint, with a
rather contemptuous stateliness, " it is unnecessary
to repeat what has passed between us and our daugh-
ter. Mr. Arrowpoint will tell you our resolution."

" Your marrying is quite out of the question,"
said Mr. Arrowpoint, rather too heavily weighted
with his task, and standing in an embarrassment
unrelieved by a cigar. " It is a wild scheme
altogether. A man has been called out for
less."

" You have taken a base advantage of our
confidence," burst in Mrs. Arrowpoint, unable to
carry out her purpose and leave the burthen of
speech to her husband.

Klesmer made a low bow in silent irony.

" The pretension is ridiculous. You had better
give it up and leave the house at once," continued
Mr. Arrowpoint. He wished to do without men-
tioning the money.

"I can give up nothing without reference to your
daughter's wish," said Klesmer. " My engagement
is to her."

" It is useless to discuss the question," said Mrs.
Arrowpoint. " We shall never consent to the mar-
riage. If Catherine disobeys us, we shall disinherit

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 339

her. You will not marry her fortune. It is right
you should know that."

" Madam, her fortune has been the only thing I
have had to regret about her. But I must ask her
if she willnot think: the sacrifice greater than I am
worthy of."

" It is no sacrifice to me/' said Catherine,
" except that I am sorry to hurt my father and
mother. I have always felt my fortune to be a
wretched fatality of my life."

" You mean to defy us, then ? " said Mrs.
Arrowpoint.

" I mean to marry Herr Klesmer," said Catherine,
firmly.

■"He had better not count on our relenting," said
Mrs. Arrowpoint, whose manners suff'ered from that
impunity in insult which has been reckoned among
the privileges of women.

"Madam," said Klesmer, "certain reasons forbid
me to retort. But understand that I consider it out
of the power either of you or of your fortune to con-
fer on me anything that I value. My rank as an
artist is of my own winning, and I would not
exchange it for any other. I am able to maintain
your daughter, and I ask for no change in my life
but her companionship."

" You will leave the house, however," said Mrs.
Arrowpoint.

" I go at once," said Klesmer, bowing and quitting
the room.

" Let there be no misunderstanding, mamma," said
Catherine ; " I consider myself engaged to Herr
Klesmer, and I intend to marry him."

The mother turned her head away, and waved her
hand in sio-n of disiuissai.

340 DANIEL DERONDA.

X "It's all very fine," said Mr. Arrowpoint, when
Catherine was gone ; " but what the deuce are we
to do with the property ? "

" There is Harry Brendall. He can take the
name."

" Harry Brendall will get through it all in no
time," said Mr. A.rrowpoint, relighting his cigar.

And thus, witli notliing settled but the determi-
nation of the lovers, Klesmer had left Quetcham.

CHAPTEK XXIII.

" Among the heirs of Art, as at the divisiou of the promised land,
each has to win liis ])ortiou by hard fighting : tlie bestowal is after
tlie manner of propliecy, and is a title without possession. To
carry the map of an ungotten estate in your pocket is a poor sort
of copyhold. And in fancy to cast his shoe over Edom is little
warrant tliat a man shall ever set the sole of his foot on an acre of
his own there."

" The most obstinate beliefs that mortals entertain about them-
selves are sucli as they have no evidence for beyond a constant,
spontaneous pulsing of their self-satisfaction, — as it were a hidden
seed of madness, a confidence that they can move the world with-
out precise notion of standing-place or lever. "

" Pray go to church, mamma," said Gwendolen the
next morning. " I prefer seeing Herr Klesmer
alone." (He had written in reply to her note that
he would be with her at eleven.)

" That is hardly correct, I think," said Mrs.
Davilow, anxiously.

" Our affairs are too serious for us to think of
such nonsensical rules," said Gwendolen, contemptu-
ously. " They are insulting as well as ridiculous."

" You would not mind Isabel sitting with you ?
She would be reading in a corner."

" No, she could not : she would bite her nails and
stare. It would be too irritating. Trust my judg-
ment, mamma. I must be alone. Take them all to
church."

Gwendolen had her way, of course ; only that
IVIiss Merry and two of the girls stayed at home, to
give the house a look of habitation by sitting at the
dining-room windows.

342 DANIEL DERONDA.

It was a delicious Sunday morning. The melan-
choly waning sunshine of autumn rested on the leaf-
strewn grass and came mildly through the windows
in slanting bands of brightness over the old furni-
ture, and the glass panel that reiiected the furniture ;
over the tapestried chairs with tlieir faded flower-
wreaths, the dark enigmatic pictures, the superan-
nuated organ at which Gwendolen had pleased
herself with acting Saint Cecilia on her first joyous
arrival, the crowd of pallid, dusty knick-knacks seen
through the open doors of the antechamber where
she had achieved the wearing of her Greek dress as
Hermione. This last memory was just now very
busy in her ; for had not Klesmer then been struck
with admiration of her pose and expression ? What-
ever he had said, whatever she imagined him to
have thought, was at this moment pointed with
keenest interest for her : perhaps she had never
before in her life felt so inwardly dependent, so con-
sciously in need of another person's opinion. There
was a new fluttering of spirit within her, a new
element of deliberation in her self-estimate, which
had hitherto been a blissful gift of intuition. Still
it was the recurrent burthen of her inward soliloquy
that Klesmer had seen but little of her, and any
unfavourable conclusion of his must have too narrow
a foundation. She really felt clever enough for
anything.

To fill up the time she collected her volumes and
pieces of music, and laying them on the top of the
piano, set herself to classify them. Then catching
the reflection of her movements in the glass panel,
she was diverted to the contemplation of the image
there and walked towards it. Dressed in black,
without a single ornament, and with the warm

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 343

whiteness of her skin set off between her light-
brown coronet of hair and her square-cut bodice,
she might have tempted an artist to try again the
Eoman trick of a statue in black, white, and tawny
marble. Seeing her image slowly advancing, she
thought, " I am beautiful," — not exultingly, but
with grave decision. Being beautiful was, after all,
the condition on which she most needed exter-
nal testimony. If any one objected to the turn of
her nose or the form of her neck and chin, she had
not the sense that she could presently show her
power of attainment in these branches of feminine
perfection.

There was not much time to fill up in this way
before the sound of wheels, the loud ring, and the
opening doors assured her that she was not by any
accident to be disappointed. This slightly increased
her inward flutter. ■ In spite of her self-confidence,
she dreaded Klesmer as part of that unmanageable
world which was independent of her wishes, — some- ,
thing vitriolic that would not cease to burn because
you smiled or frowned at it. Poor thing ! she was at
a higher crisis of her woman's fate than in her past
experience with Grandcourt. The questioning, then,
w^as whether she should take a particular man as a
husband. The inmost fold of her questioning now
was whether she need take a husband at all, —
whether she could not achieve substantiality for
herself, and know gratified ambition without
bondage.

Klesmer made his most deferential bow in the
wide doorway of the antechamber, — showing also
the deference of the finest gray kerseymere trousers
and perfect gloves (the " masters of those who know "
are happily altogether human). Gwendolen met

344 DANIEL DERONDA.

him with unusual gravity, and holding out her hand,
said, " It is most kind of you to come, Herr Klesmer.
I hope you have not thought me presumptuous."

" I took your wish as a command that did me
honour," said Klesmer, with answering gravity. He
was really putting by his own affairs in order to
give his utmost attention to what Gwendolen might
have to say ; but his temperament was still in a
state of excitation from the events of yesterday,
likely enough to give his expressions a more than
usually biting edge.

Gwendolen for once was under too great a strain
of feeling to remember formalities. She continued
standing near the piano, and Klesmer took his
stand at the other end of it, with his back to the
light and his terribly omniscient eyes upon her.
No affectation was of use, and she began without
delay.

" I wish to consult you, Herr Klesmer. We have

lost all our fortune ; we have nothing. I must get

my own bread, and T desire to provide for my mamma,

so as to save her from any hardship. The only way

I can think of — and I should like it better .than

anything — is to be an actress — to go on the stage.

1 ^L But of course I should like to take a high position,

)(^and I thought — if you thought I could," — here

' Gwendolen became a little more nervous, — " it

would be better for me to be a singer — to study

singing also."

Klesmer put down his hat on the piano, and
folded his arms as if to concentrate himself.

" I know," Gwendolen resumed, turning from
pale to pink and back again, — "I know that my
method of singing is very defective; but I have been
ill taught. I could be better taught ; I could study.

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 345

And you will understand my wish : to sing and
act too, like Grisi, is a much higher position.
Naturally, I should wish to take as high a rank as I
can. And I can xely -on -your judgment. I am sure
you will tell me the truth."

Grwehdolen somehow had the conviction that now
she made this serious appeal the truth would be
favourable.

Still Klesnier did not speak. He drew off his
gloves quickly, tossed them into his hat, rested his
hands on his hips, and walked to the other end of
the room. He^wa.s filled with compassion for tliis
girl : he wanted to put a guard on his speech.
When he turned again, he looked at her with a mild
frown of inquiry, and said with gentle though quick
utterance, " You have never seen anything, I think,
of artists and their lives? — I mean of musicians,
actors, artists of that kind ? "

" Oh, no," said Gwendolen, not perturbed by a
reference to this obvious fact in the history of a
young lady hitherto well provided for.

" You are, — pardon me," said Klesmer, again paus-
ing near the piano, — " in coming to a conclusion on
such a matter as this, everything must be taken
into consideration, — you are perhaps twenty?"

" I am twenty-one," said Gwendolen, a slight fear
rising in her. " Do you think I am too old ? "

Klesmer pouted his under lip and shook his long
fingers upward in a manner totally enigmatic.

" Many persons begin later than others," said
Gwendolen, betrayed by her habitual consciousness
of having valuable information to bestow.

Klesmer took no notice, but said with more
studied gentleness tluin ever, " You have probabjy
not thought of an aitistic career until now : you did

346 DANIEL DERONDA.

not entertain the notion, the longing — what shall I
say ? — you did not wish yourself an actress, or any-
,thing of that sort, till the present trouble ? "
\ " Not exactly ; but I was fond of acting. I have
acted ; you saw me, if you remember — you saw me
here in charades, and as Hermione," said Gwendolen,
really fearing that Klesmer had forgotten.

" Yes, yes," he answered quickly, " I remember —
I remember perfectly," and again walked to the
other end of the room. It was difficult for him to
refrain from this kind of movement when he was in
any argument either audible or silent.

Gwendolen felt that she was being weighed. The
delay was unpleasant. But she did not yet conceive
that the scale could dip on the wrong side, and it
seemed to her only graceful to say, " I shall be very
much obliged to you for taking the trouble to give
me your advice, whatever it may be."

" Miss Harleth," said Klesmer, turning towards
her and speaking with a slight increase of accent,
" I will veil nothing from you in this matter. I
should reckon myself guilty if I put a false visage
on things, — made them too black or too white. The
gods have a curse for him who willingly tells another
the wrong road. And if I misled one who is so
young, so beautiful • — who, I trust, will find her
happiness along the right road, I should regard my-
self as a — Bosevncht." In the last word Klesmer's
voice had dropped to a loud whisper.

Gwendolen felt a sinking of heart under this unex-
pected solemnity, and kept a sort of fascinated gaze
on Klesmer's face, while he went on.

" You are a beautiful young lady — you have been
brought up in ease — you have done what you would
— you have not said to yourself, ' I must know this

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 347

exactly,' ' I must understand this exactly,' ' I must -^
dqlllis exactly ' " — in uttering these three "terrible
musts, Klesmer lifted up three long fingers in suc-
cession. "In sum, you have not been called upon
to be anything but a charming young lady, whom it
is an impoliteness to find fault with."

He paused an instant ; then resting his fingers on
his hips again, and thrusting out his powerful chin,
he said, —

" Well, then, with that preparation you wish to
try the life of the artist ; you wish to, try-.-,a life of
arduous, unceasing work^I^i3.d„Tr:zT..uttCertain praise.
Your praise would have to be earned, like your
bread j and both would come slowly, scantily —
wEat do I say ? — they might hardlv come at
all."

This tone of discouragement, which Klesmer half
hoped might suffice without anything more un-
pleasant, roused some resistance in Gwendolen.
With a slight turn of her head away from him,
and an air of pique, she said, —

" 1 thought that you, being an artist, would con-
sider the life one of the most honourable and de-
lightful. And if I can do nothing better ? — I
suppose I can put up with the same risks as other
people do."

" Do nothing better ?" said Klesmer, a little fired.
" No, my dear Miss Harleth, you could do nothing
better — neither man nor woman could do anything
better — if you could do wliat was best or good of
its kind. I am not decrying the life of the true
artist. I am exalting it. I say, it is out of the
reach of any but choice organizations, — natures
framed to love perfection and to labour for it;
ready, like all true lovers, to endure, to wait, to say,

348 DANIEL DERONDA.

I am not yet worthy, but she — Art, my mistress — is

worthy, and I will live to merit her, An honourable

life ? Yes. But the honour comes from the inward
VDcation and the hard-won achievement : there is no
honour in donning the life as a livery."

Some excitement of yesterday had revived in
Klesmer, and hurried him into speech a little aloof
from his immediate friendly purpose. He had
wished as delicately as possible to rouse in Gwen-
dolen a sense of her unfitness for a perilous, difficult
course ; but it was his wont to be angry with the
pretensions of incompetence, and he was in danger
of getting chafed. Conscious of this, he paused
suddenly. But Gwendolen's chief impression was
that he had not yet denied her the power of doing
what would be good of its kind. Klesmer's fervour
seemed to be a sort of glamour such as he was prone
to throw over things in general ; and what she
desired to assure him of was that she was not
afraid of some preliminary hardships. The belief
that to present herself in public on the stage must
produce an effect such as she had been used to feel
certain of in private life, was like a bit of her flesh,
— it was not to be peeled off readily, but must come
with blood and pain. She said, in a tone of some
insistence, —

" I am quite prepared to bear hardships at first.
Of course no one can become celebrated all at once.
And it is not necessary that every one sliould be
first-rate, — either actresses or singers. If you would
be so kind as to tell me what steps I should take, I
shall have the courage to take them. I don't mind
going up hill. It will be easier than the dead level
of being a governess. I will take any steps you
recommend."

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 349

Klesmer was more convinced now that he must
speak plainly.

" I will tell you the steps, not that I recommend,
but that will be forced upon you. It is all one, so
far, what your goal may be, — excellence, celebrity,
second, third rateness, — it is all one. You must so
to town under the protection of your mother. You
must put yourself under training, — musical, dra-
matic, theatrical : whatev^er you desire to do you
have to learn — " Here Gwendolen looked as if she
were going to speak, but Klesmer lifted up his hand
and said decisively : " I know. You have exercised
your talents — you recite — you sing — from the
drawing-room dandpunkt. My dear Fraulein, you
must unlearn all that. Ypu have not yet conceived
what excellence is : you must unlearn your mistaken
admirations. You must know what you have to
strive for, and then you must subdue your mind and
body to unbroken discipline. Your mind, I say.
For you must not be thinking of celebrity : put
that candle out of your eyes, and look only at ex-
cellence. You would of course earn nothing, — you
could get no engagement for a long while. You
would need money for yourself and your family.
But that," here Klesmer frowned and shook his
fingers as if to dismiss a triviality — " that could
perhaps be found."

Gwendolen turned pink and pale during this
speech. Her pride had felt a terrible knife-edge,
and the last sentence only made the smart keener.
She was conscious of appearing moved, and tried to
escape from her weakness by suddenly walking to a
seat and pointing out a chair to Klesmer. He did
not take it, but turned a little in order to face her
and leaned against the piano. At that moment she

350 DANIEL DERONDA.

wished that she had not sent for him : this first
experience of being taken on some other ground
than that of her social rank and her beauty was
becoming bitter to her. Klesmer, preoccupied with
a serious purpose, went on without change of tone.

" Now, what sort of issue might be fairly expected
from all this self-denial? You would ask that.
It is right that your eyes should be open to it.
I will tell you truthfully. The issue would be
uncertain, and — most probably — would not be
worth much."

At these relentless words Klesmer put out his
lip and looked through his spectacles with the air
of a monster impenetrable by beauty.

Gwendolen's eyes began to burn, but the dread
of showing weakness urged her to added self-control.
She compelled herself to say in a hard tone, —

" You think I want talent, or am too old to
begin."

Klesmer made a sort of hum, and then descended
on an emphatic " Yes ! The desire and the training
should have begun seven years ago — or a good deal
earlier. A mountebank's child who helps her father
to earn shillings when she is six years old, — a child
that inherits a singing throat from a long line of
choristers and learns to sing as it learns to talk,
has a likelier beginning. Any great achievernent
in acting or in music grows with the growth.
Whenever an artist has been able to say, 'I came,
I saw, I conquered,' it has been at the end of
patient practice. Genius at first is little more than
a great capacity for receiving discipline. Singing
and acting, like the fine dexterity of the juggler
with his cups and balls, require a shaping of tlie
organs towards a finer and finer certainty of efl'ect.

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 351

Your muscles — your whole frame — must go like
a watch, true, true, true, to a hair. That is the
work of spring-time, before habits have been
determined."

" I did not pretend to genius," said Gwendolen,
still feeling that she might somehow do what
Klesmer wanted to represent as impossible. " I
only supposed that I might have a little talent, —
enough to improve."

" I don't deny that," said Klesmer. " If you had
been put in the right track some years ago and had
worked well, you might now have made a public
singer, though I don't think your voice would have
counted for much in public. For the stage your
personal charms and intelligence might then have
told without the present drawback of inexperience,
— lack of discipline, — lack of instruction."

Certainly Klesmer seemed cruel, but his feeling
was the reverse of cruel. Our speech even when
we are most single-minded can never take its line
absolutely from one impulse ; but Klesmer's was
as far as possible directed by compassion for poor
Gwendolen's ignorant eagerness to enter on a course
of which he saw all the miserable details with a
definiteness which he could not if he would have
conveyed to her mind.

Gwendolen, however, was not convinced. Her
self-opinion rallied, and since the counsellor whom
she had called in gave a decision of such severe
peremptoriness, she was tempted to think that his
judgment was not only fallible but biassed. It
occurred to her that a simpler and wiser step for
her to have taken would have been to send a letter
through the post to the manager of a London the-
atre, asking him to make an appointment. She

352 DANIEL DERONDA.

would make no further reference to her singing:
Klesmer, she saw, had set himself against her
singing. But she felt equal to arguing with him
about her going on the stage, and she answered in
a resistant tone, —

"I understand, of course, that no one can be a
finished actress at once. It may be impossible to
tell beforehand whether I should succeed ; but that
seems to me a reason why I should try. I should
have thought that I might have taken an engage-
ment at a theatre meanwhile, so as to earn money
and study at the same time."

" Can't be done, my dear Miss Harleth — I speak
plainly — it can't be done. I must clear your mind
of these notions, which have no more resemblance to
reality than a pantomime. Ladies and gentlemen
think that when they have made their toilet and
drawn on their gloves they are as presentable on
the stage as in a drawing-room. No manager thinks
that. With all your grace and charm, if you were
to present yourself as an aspirant to the stage, a
manager would either require you to pay as an
amateur for being allowed to perform, or he would
tell you to go and be taught, — trained to bear your-
self on the stage, as a horse, however beautiful, must
be trained for the circus ; to say nothing of that
study which would enable you to personate a char-
acter consistently, and animate it with the natural
language of face, gesture, and tone. For you to
get an engagement fit for you straight away is
out of the question."

" I really cannot understand that," said Gwen-
dolen, rather haughtily — then, checking herself,
she added in another tone — "I shall be obliged
to you if you will explain how it is that such poor

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 353

actresses get engaged. I have been to the theatre
several times, and I am sure there were actresses
who seemed to me to act not at all well and who
were quite plain."

" Ah, my dear Miss Harleth, that is the easy-
criticism of the buyer. We who buy slippers toss
away this pair and the other as clumsy ; but there
went an apprenticeship to the making of them.
Excuse me : you could not at present teach one
of those actresses ; but there is certainly much
that she could teach you. For example, she can
pitch her voice so as to be heard : ten to one you
could not do it till after many trials. Merely to
stand and move on the stage is an art, — requires
practice. It is understood that we are not now
talking of a comparse in a petty theatre who earns
the wages of a needlewoman. That is out of the
question for you."

"Of course I must earn more than that," said
Gwendolen, with a sense of wincing rather than
of being refuted ; " but I think I could soon learn
to do tolerably well all those little things you have
mentioned. I am not so very stupid. And even
in Paris I am sure I saw two actresses playing
important ladies' parts who were not at all ladies
and quite ugly. I suppose I have no particular
talent, but I must think it is an advantage, even
on the stage, to be a lady and not a perfect fright."

" Ah, let us understand each otlier," said Klesmer,
with a flash of new meaning. " I was speaking of
what you would have to go through if you aimed at
becoming a real artist, — if you took music and
the drama as a higher vocation in which you would
stiive after excellence. On that head, wliat T
have said stands fast. You would find — after
VOL. I. — 23

354 DANIEL DERONDA.

your education in doing things slackly for one-and-
twenty years — great difficulties in study : you
would find mortifications in the treatment you
would get when you presented yourself on the
footing of skill. You would be subjected to tests ;
people would no longer feign not to see your blunders.
You would at first only be accepted on trial. You
would have to bear what I may call a glaring insig-
nificance : any success must be won by the utmost
patience. You would have to keep your place in
a crowd, and after all it is likely you would lose
it and get out of sight. If you determine to face
these hardships and still try, you will have the
dignity of a high purpose, even though you may
have chosen unfortunately. You will have some
merit, though you may win no prize. You have
asked my judgment on your chances of winning.
I don't pretend to speak absolutely ; but measur-
ing probabilities, my judgment is — you will
hardly achieve more than mediocrity."

Klesmer had delivered himself with emphatic
rapidity, and now paused a moment. Gwendolen
was motionless, looking at her hands, which lay
over each other on her lap, till the deep-toned,
long-drawn "But" with which he resumed, had
a startling effect, and made her look at him again.

" But — there are certainly other ideas, other dis-
positions with which a young lady may take up an
art that will bring her before the public. She may
rely on the unquestioned power of her beauty as a
passport. She may desire to exhibit herself to an
admiration which dispenses with skill. This goes
a certain way on the stage : not in music ; but on
the stage, beauty is taken when there is nothing
more commanding to be had. Not without some

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 355

drilling, however : as I have said before, techni-
calities have in any case to be mastered. But
these excepted, we have here nothing to do with
art. The woman who takes up this career is not
an artist : she is usually one who thinks of enter-
ing on a luxurious life by a short and easy road
— perhaps by marriage — that is her most bril-
liant chance, and the rarest. Still, her career will
not be luxurious to begin with : she can hardly
earn her own poor bread independently at once,
and the indignities she will be liable to are such
as I will not speak of."

" I desire to be independent," said Gwendolen,
deeply stung and confusedly apprehending some
scorn for herself in Klesmer's words. " That was
my reason for asking whether I could not get an
immediate engagement. Of course I cannot know
how things go on about theatres. But I thought
that I could have made myself independent. I
have no money, and I will not accept help from any
one."

Her wounded pride could not rest without mak-
ing this disclaimer. It was intolerable to her that
Klesmer should imagine her to have expected other
help from him than advice.

"That is a hard saying for your friends," said Kles-
mer, recovering the gentleness of tone with which
he had begun the conversation. " I have given you
pain. That was inevitable. I was bound to put
the truth, the unvarnished truth, before you. I
have not said — I will not say — you will do wrong
to choose the hard, climbing path of an endeavour-
ing artist. You have to compare its difficulties with
those of any less hazardous — any more private
course which opens itself to you. If you take that

356 DANIEL DERONDA.

more courageous resolve, I will ask leave to shake
hands with you on the strength of our free-masonry,
where we are all vowed to the service of Art, and
to serve her by helping every fellow-servant."

Gwendolen was silent, again looking at her hands.
She felt herself very far away from taking the re-
solve that would enforce acceptance ; and after
waiting an instant or two, Klesmer went on with
deepened seriousness.

" When there is the duty of service, there must be
the duty of accepting it. The question is not one of
personal obligation. And in relation to practical
matters immediately affecting your future, — excuse
my permitting myself to mention in confidence an
affair of my own. I am expecting an event which
would make it easy for me to exert myself on your
behalf in furthering your opportunities of instruction
and residence in London — under the care, that is,
of your family — without need for anxiety on your
part. If you resolve to take art as a bread-study,
you need only undertake the study at first ; the
.bread will be found without trouble. The event I
I mean is my marriage, — in fact, — you will receive
Ithis as a matter of confidence, — my marriage with
'Miss Arrowpoint, which will more than double such
right as I have to be trusted by you as a friend.
Your friendship will have greatly risen in value
for her by your having adopted that generous
labour."

Grwendolen's face had begun to burn. That Kles-
mer was about to marry Miss Arrowpoint caused
her no surprise, and at another moment she would
have amused herself in quickly imagining the scenes
that must have occurred at Quetcham. But what
engrossed her feeling, what filled her imagination

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 357

now, was the panorama of her own immediate future
that Klesmer's words seemed to have unfolded. The
suggestion of Miss Arrowpoint as a. patroness was
only another detail added to its repulsiveness;
Klesmer's proposal to help her seemed an additional
irritation after the Immiliating judgment he had
passed on her capabilities. His words had really-
bitten into her self-confidence, and turned it into the
pain of a bleeding wound ; and the idea of present-
ing herself before other judges was now poisoned
with the dread that they also might be harsh : they
also would not recognize the talent she was con-
scious of. But she controlled herself, and rose from
her seat before she made any answer. It seemed
natural that she should pause. She went to the
piano and looked absently at leaves of music, pinch-
ing up the corners. At last she turned towards
Klesmer and said, with almost her usual air of
proud equality, which in this interview had not
been hitherto perceptible, —

" I congratulate you sincerely, Herr Klesmer. I
think I never saw any one more admirable than
Miss Arrowpoint. And 1 have to thank you for
every sort of kindness this morning. But I can't
decide now. If I make the resolve you have spoken
of, I will use your perndssion — I will let you know.
But I fear the obstacles are too great. In any case,
I am deeply obliged to you. It was very bold of
me to ask you to take this trouble."

Klesmer's inward remark was, " She will never
let me know." But with the most thorough respect
in his manner, he said, " Command me at any time.
There is an address on this card which will always
find me with little delay."

When he had taken up his hat and was going to

3S8 DANIEL DERONDA.

make his bow, Gwendolen's better self, conscious of
an ingratitude which the clear-seeing Klesmer must
have penetrated, made a desperate effort to find its
way above the stifling layers of egoistic disappoint-
ment and irritation. Looking at him with a glance
of the old gayety, she put out her hand, and said
with a smile, " If I take the wrong road, it will not
be because of your flattery."

" God forbid that you should take any road but
one where you will find and give happiness ! " said
Klesmer, fervently. Then, in foreign fashion, he
touched her fingers lightly with his lips, and in
another minute she heard the sound of his depart-
ing wheels getting more distant on the gravel.

Gwendolen had never in her life felt so miserable.
No sob came, no passion of tears, to relieve her.
Her eyes were burning ; and the noonday only
brought into more dreary clearness the absence of
interest from her life. All memories, all objects,
the pieces of music displayed, the open piano — the
very reflection of herself in the glass — seemed no
better than the packed-up shows of a departing fair.
For the first time since her consciousness began, she
was having a vision of herself on the common level,
and had lost the innate sense that there were reasons
why she should not be slighted, elbowed, jostled, — ■
treated like a passenger with a third-class ticket, in
spite of private objections on her own part. She
did not move about ; the prospects begotten by dis-
appointment were too oppressively preoccupying ;
she threw herself into the shadiest corner of a set-
tee, and pressed her fingers over her burning eyelids.
Every word that Klesmer had said seemed to have
been branded into her memory, as most words ara...
which bring with them a new set of impressions

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 359

and maka. an epoch for us. Only a few hours
before, the dawning smile of self-contentmeut rested
on her lips as she vaguely imagined a future suited to
her wishes : it seemed but the affair of a year or so
for her to become the most approved Juliet of the
time ; or, if Klesmer encouraged her idea of being a
singer, to proceed by more gradual steps to her
place in the opera, while she won money and
applause by occasional performances. Why not ?
At home, at school, among acquaintances, she had
been used to have her conscious superiority admitted ;
and she had moved in a society where everything,
from low arithmetic to high art, is of the amateur
kind politely supposed to fall short of perfection
only because gentlemen and ladies are not obliged
to do more than they like, — otherwise they would
probably give forth abler wrritings and show them-
selves more commanding artists than any the
world is at present obliged to put up with. The
self-confident visions that had beguiled her were
not of a highly exceptional kind ; and she had at
least shown some rationality in consulting the per-
son who knew the most and had flattered her the
least. In asking Klesmer's advice, however, she ]
had rather been borne up by a belief in his latent .
admiration than bent on knowing anything more
unfavourable that might have lain behind his slight
objections to her singing; and the truth she had
asked for with an expectation that it would be
agreeable, had come like a lacerating thong.

" Too old — should have begun seven years ago
— you will not, at best, achieve more than medi-
ocrity — hard, incessant work, uncertain praise —
bread coming slowly, scantily, perhaps not at all —
mortifications, people no longer feigning not to see

36o DANIEL DERONDA.

your blunders — glaring insignificance " — all these
phrases rankled in her ; and even more galling was
the liint that she could only be accepted on the
stage as a beauty who hoped to get a husband.
The " indignities " that she might be visited with
had no very definite form for her, but the mere
association of anything called " indignity " with
herself roused a resentful alarm. And along with
the vaguer images which were raised by those bit-
ing words, came the more precise conception of
disagreeables which her experience enabled her to
imagine. How could she take her mamma and the
four sisters to London, if it were not possible for her
to earn money at once ? And as for submitting to
be a protegee, and asking her mamma to submit with
her to the humiliation of being supported by Miss
Arrowpoint, — that was as bad as being a governess ;
nay, worse ; for suppose the end of all her study to
be as worthless as Ivlesmer clearly expected it to
be, the sense of favours received and never repaid,
would embitter the miseries of disappointment.
Klesmer doubtless had magnificent ideas about
helping artists ; but how could he know the feelings
of ladies in such matters ? It was all over : she had
entertained a mistaken hope ; and there was an end
of it.

"An end of it ! " said (hvendolen, aloud, starting
from her seat as she heard the steps and voices of
her mamma and sisters coming in from church.
She hurried to the piano and began gathering
together her pieces of music with assumed diligence,
while the expression on her pale face and in her
burning eyes was what would have suited a woman
enduring a wrong which she might not resent, but
would probably revenge.

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 361

" Well, my darling," said gentle Mrs. Davilow,
entering, " I see by the wheel-marks that Klesmer
has been here. Have you been satisfied with the
interview ? " She had some guesses as to its object,
but felt timid about implying them.

" Satisfied, mamma ? oh, yes," said Gwendolen, in a
high, hard tone, for which she must be excused,
because she dreaded a scene of emotion. If she did
not set herself resolutely to feign proud indifference,
she felt that she must fall into a passionate outburst
of despair, which would cut her mamma more deeply
than all the rest of their calamities.

" Your uncle and aunt were disappointed at not
seeing you," said Mrs. Davilow, coming near the
piano, and watching Gwendolen's movements. " I
only said that you wanted rest."

"Quite right, mamma," said Gwendolen, in the
same tone, turning to put away some music.

" Am 1 not to know anything now, Gwendolen ?
Am I always to be in the dark ? " said Mrs. Davi-
low, too keenly sensitive to her daughter's manner
and expression not to fear that something painful
had occurred.

" There is really nothing to tell now, mamma,"
said Gwendolen, in a still higher voice. " I had a
mistaken idea about something I could do. Herr
Klesmer has undeceived me. That is all."

" Don't look and speak in that way, my dear
child : I cannot bear it," said Mrs. Davilow, break-
ing down. She felt an undefinable terror,

Gwendolen looked at her a moment in silence,
bitting her inner lip ; then she went up to her, and
putting her hands on her mamma's shoulders, said,
with a drop of her voice to the lowest undertone,
" Mamma, don't speak to me now. It is useless to

362 DANIEL DEKONDA.

cry and waste our strength over what can't be

altered. You will live at Sawyer's Cottage, and I

/am going to the bishop's daughters. There is no

/ more to be said. Things cannot be altered, and

I who cares ? It makes no difference to any one else

I what we do. We must try not to care ourselves.

We must not give way. I dread giving way. Help

me to be quiet."

Mrs. Davilow was like a frightened child under
her daughter's face and voice: her tears were
arrested, and she went away in silence.

CHAPTEK XXIV.

I question things and do not find
One that will answer to my mind ;
And all the world appears unkind.

Wordsworth.

Gwendolen was glad that she had got through her
interview with Klesmer before meeting her uncle
and aunt. She had made up her mind now that
there were only disagreeables before her, and she
felt able to maintain a dogged calm in the face of
any humiliation that might be proposed.

The meeting did not happen until the Monday,
when Gwendolen went to the Eectory with her
mamma. They had called at Sawyer's Cottage by
the way, and had seen every cranny of the narrow
rooms in a midday light, uusoftened by blinds and
curtains ; for the furnishing to be done by gleanings
from the Eectory had not yet begun.

" How shall you endure it, mamma ?" said Gwen-
dolen, as they walked away. She had not opened
her lips while they were looking round at the bare
walls and floors, and the little garden with the cab-
bage-stalks, and the yew arbour all dust and cob-
webs within. " You and the four girls all in that
closet of a room, with the green and yellow paper
pressing on your eyes ? And without me ? "

"It will be some comfort that you have not to
bear it too, dear."

" If it were not that I must get some money,
I would rather be there than go to be a governess."

364 DANIEL DERONDA.

"Don't set yourself against it beforehand, Gwen-
dolen. If you go to the palace, you will have every
luxury about you. And you know how much you
have always cared for that. You will not find it so
hard as going up and down those steep narrow stairs,
and hearing the crockery rattle through the house,
and the dear girls talking."

" It is like a bad dream," said Gwendolen, impetu-
ously. " I cannot believe that my uncle will let
you go to such a place. He ought to have taken
some other steps."

" Don't be unreasonable, dear child. What could
he have done ? "

" That was for him to find out. It seems to me
a very extraordinary world if people in our posi-
tion must sink in this way all at once," said Gwendo-
len, the other worlds with which she was conversant
being constructed with a sense of fitness that ar-
ranged her own future agreeably.

It was her temper that framed her sentences un-
der this entirely new pressure of evils : she could
have spoken more suitably on the vicissitudes in
other people's lives, though it was never her aspi-
ration to express herself virtuously so much as
cleverly, — a point to be remembered in extenuation
of her words, which were usually worse than she
was.

And, notwithstanding the keen sense of her own
bruises, she was capable of some compunction when
her uncle and aunt received her with a more affec-
tionate kindness than they had ever shown before.
She could not but be struck by the dignified cheer-
fulness with which they talked of the necessary
economies in their way of living and in the educa-
tion of the boys. Mr. Gascoigne's v.-oith of char-

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 365

acter, a little obscured by worldly opportunities, —
as the poetic beauty of women is obscured by the
demands of fashionable dressing, — showed itself to
great advantage under this sudden reduction of for- j
tune. Prompt and methodical, he had set himself '
not only to put down his carriage, but to reconsider
his worn suits of clothes, to leave off meat for break-
fast, to do without periodicals, to get Edwy from
school and arrange hours of study for all the boys
under himself, and to order the whole establishment
on the sparest footing possible. For all healthy
people economy has its pleasures ; and the Eector's
spirit had spread through the household. Mrs. Gas-
coigne and Anna, who always made papa their
model, really did not miss anything they cared
about for themselves, and in all sincerity felt that
the saddest part of the family losses was the change
for Mrs. Davilow and her children.

Anna for the first time could merge her resent-
ment on behalf of Eex in lier sympathy with Gwen-
dolen ; and Mrs. Gascoigne was disposed to hope
that trouble would have a salutary effect on her
niece, without thinking it her duty to add any bit-
ters by way of increasing the salutariness. They
had both been busy devising how to get blinds and
curtains for the cottage out of the household stores ;
but with delicate feeling they left these matters in
the background, and talked at first of Gwendolen's
journey, and the comfort it was to her mamma to
have her at home again.

In fact, there was nothing for Gwendolen to take
as a justification for extending her discontent with
events to the persons immediately around her, and
she felt shaken into a more alert attention, as if by
a call to drill that everybody else was obeying,

366 DANIEL DEB.ONDA.

when her uncle began in a voice of firm kindness
to talk to her of the efforts he had been making to
get her a situation which would offer her as many
advantages as possible. Mr. Gascoigne had not for-
gotten Grandcourt, but the possibility of further
advances from that quarter was something too vague
for a man of his good sense to be determined by it :
uncertainties of that kind must not now slacken his
action in doing the best he could for his niece under
actual conditions.

" I felt that there was no time to be lost, Gwen-
dolen ; for a position in a good family where you
will have some consideration is not to be had at a
moment's notice. And however long we waited
we could hardly find one where you would be bet-
ter off than at Bisliop Mompert's. I am known to
both him and Mrs. Mompert, and that of course is
an advantage for yoa. Our correspondence has gone
on favourably ; but I cannot be surprised that Mrs.
Mompert wishes to see you before making an abso-
lute engagement. She thhiks of arranging for you
to meet her at Wanchester when she is on her way
to town. I dare say you will feel tlie interview
rather trying for you, my dear ; but you will have
a little time to prepare your mind."

" Do you know why she wants to see me, uncle ? "
said Gwendolen, whose mind had quickly gone over
various reasons that an imaginary Mrs. Mompert
with three daughters might be supposed to enter-
tain, — reasons all of a disagreeable kind to the
person presenting herself for inspection.

The Rector smiled. " Don't be alarmed, my dear.
She would like to have a more precise idea of you
than my report can give. And a mother is natur-
ally scrupulous about a companion for her daugh-

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 3G7

ters. I have told her you are very young. But she
herself exercises a close supervision over her daugh-
ters' education, and that makes her less anxious as
to age. She is a woman of taste and also of strict
principle, and objects to having a French person in
the house. I feel sure that she will think your
manners and accomplishments as good as she is
likely to find ; and over the religious and moral
tone of the education she, and indeed the bishop
himself, will preside."

Gwendolen dared not answer, but the repression
of her decided dislike to the whole prospect sent an
unusually deep flush over her face and neck, subsid-
ing as quickly as it came. Anna, full of tender
fears, put her little hand into her cousin's, and Mr.
Gascoigne was too kind a man not to conceive some-
thing of the trial which this sudden change must
be for a girl like Gwendolen. Bent on giving a
cheerful view of things, he went on in an easy
tone of remark, not as if answering supposed
objections, —

" I think so highly of the position that I should
have been tempted to try and get it for Anna, if she
had been at all likely to meet Mrs. Mompert's wants.
It is really a home, with a continuance of education
in the highest sense ; ' governess ' is a misnomer.
The bishop's views are of a more decidedly Low
Church colour than my own, — he is a close friend
of Lord Grampian's ; but though privately strict, he
is not by any means narrow in public matters. In-
deed, he has created as little dislike in his diocese
as any bishop on the bench. He has always re-
mained friendly to me, though before his promotion, '
when he was an incumbent of this diocese, we had
a little controversy about the Bible Society."

368 DANIEL DERONDA.

The Eector's words were too pregnant with sat-
isfactory meaning to himself for him to imagine the
effect they produced on the mind of his niece. " Con-
tinuance of education," — " bishop's views," — " pri-
vately strict," — " Bible Society," — it was as if he
had introduced a few snakes at large for the in-
struction of ladies who regarded them as all alike
furnished with poison-bags, and biting or stinging
according to convenience. To Gwendolen, already
shrinking from the prospect opened to her, such
phrases came like the glowing heat of a burning-
glass, — not at all as the links of persuasive reflec-
tion which they formed for the good uncle. She
began desperately to seek an alternative.

" There was another situation, I think, mamma
spoke of ? " she said, with determined self-mastery.

"Yes," said the Eector, in rather a depreciatory
tone ; " but that is in a school. I should not have
the same satisfaction in your taking that. It would
be much harder work, you are aware, and not so
good in any other respect. Besides, you have not
an equal chance of getting it."

"Oh dear, no," said Mrs. Gascoigne, "it would be
much harder for you, my dear, — much less appro-
priate. You might not have a bedroom to yourself."
And Gwendolen's memories of school suggested
other particulars which forced her to admit to her-
self that this alternative would be no relief. She
turned to her uncle again and said, apparently in
acceptance of his ideas, —

" When is Mrs. Mompert likely to send for me ? "

" That is rather uncertain, but she has promised
not to entertain any other proposal till she has seen
you. She has entered with much feeling into your
position. It will be within the next fortnight,

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 369

probably. But I must be off now. I am going to
let part of my glebe uncommonly well."

The Rector ended very cheerfully, leaving the
room with the satisfactory conviction that Gwendo-
len was going to adapt herself to circumstances like
a girl of good sense. Having spoken appropriately,
he naturally supposed that the effects would be
appropriate ; being accustomed as a household and
parish authority to be asked to " speak to " refrac-
tory persons, with the understanding that the
measure was morally coercive.

"What a stay Henry is to us all!" said Mrs.
Gascoigne, when her husband had left the room.

" He is, indeed," said Mrs. Davilow, cordially. " I
think cheerfulness is a fortune in itself. I wish I
had it."

" And Rex is just like him," said Mrs. Gascoigne.
" I must tell you the comfort we have had in a
letter from him. I must read you a little bit," she
added, taking the letter from her pocket, while Anna
looked rather frightened, — she did not know why,
except that it had been a rule with her not to
mention Rex before Gwendolen.

The proud mother ran her eyes over the letter,
seeking for sentences to read aloud. But apparently
she had found it sown with what might seem
to be closer allusions than she desired to the recent
past, for she looked up, folding the letter, and
saying, —

" However, he tells us that our trouble has made
a man of him ; he sees a reason for any amount of
work : he means to get a fellowship, to take pupils,
to set one of his brothers going, to be everything
that is most remarkable. The letter is full of fun
— just like him. He says, ' Tell mother she has
VOL. I. — 24

370 ■ DANIEL DERONDA.

put out an advertiscmeut for a jolly good Lard-
working son, in time to hinder me from taking ship ;
and I offer myself for the place.' The letter came
on Friday. I never saw my husband so much
moved by anything since Eex was born. It
seemed a gain to balance our loss."

This letter, in fact, was what had helped both
Mrs. Gascoigue and Anna to show Gwendolen an
unmixed kindliness ; and she herself felt very ami-
ably about it, smiling at Anna and pinching her
chin as much as to say, " Nothing is wrong - with
r-ypu now, is it ? " She had no gratuitously ill-
! natured feeling or egoistic pleasure in making men
: miserable. She only had an intense objection to
their making her miserable.

But when the talk turned on furniture for the
cottage, Gwendoleii was not roused to show even a
lantruid interest. She thought that she had done
as much as could be expected of her this morning,
and indeed felt at an heroic pitch in keeping to
herself the struggle that was going on within her.
The recoil of her mind from the only definite
prospect allowed her, was stronger than even she
had imagined beforehand. The idea of presenting
herself before Mrs. Mompert in the first instance,
to be approved or disapproved, came as pressure
on an already painful bruise : even as a governess, it
appeared she was to be tested and was liable to
rejection. After she had done herself the violence
to accept the bishop and his wife, they were still
to consider whether they would accept her ; it was
at her peril that she was to look, speak, or be silent.
And even when she had entered on her dismal task
of self-constraint in the society of three girls whom
she was I'ound incessantly to edify, the same process

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 371

of inspection was to go on : there was always to be
Mrs. Mompert's supervision ; always something or
other would be expected of her to which she had
not the slightest inclination ; and perhaps the
bishop would examine her on serious topics. Gwen-
dolen, lately used to the social successes of a hand-
some girl, whose lively venturesomeness of talk has
the effect of wit, and who six weeks before would
have pitied the dulness of the bishop rather thaii
have been embarrassed by him, saw the life before
her as an entrance into a penitentiary. Wild
thoughts of running away to be an actress, in spite
of Klesmer, came to her with the lure of freedom ;
but his words still hung heavily on her soul ; they
had alarmed her pride and even her maidenly dig-
nity : dimly she conceived herself getting amongst
vulgar people who would treat her witli rude famil-
iarity,— odious men, whose grins and smirks would
not be seen through the strong grating of polite
society. Gwendolen's daring was not in the least
that of the adventuress ; the demand to be held a lady
was in her very marrow ; and when she had dreamed
that she might be the heroine of the gaming-table,
it was with the understanding that no one should
treat her with the less consideration, or presume to
look at her with irony as Deronda had done. To
be protected and petted, and to have her suscepti-
bilities consulted in every detail, had gone along
with her food and clothing as matters of course in
her life : even without any such warning as Kles-
mer's, she could not have thought it an attractive
freedom to be thrown in solitary dependence on the
doubtful civility of strangers. The endurance of
the episcopal penitentiary was less repulsive than
that ; though here, too, she would certainly never

372 DANIEL DERONDA.

be petted or have her susceptibilities consulted.
Her rebellion against this hard necessity which had
come just to her of all people in the world —
to her whom all circumstances had concurred in
preparing for something quite different — was
exafTcrerated instead of diminished as one hour
followed another, filled with the imagination of
what she might have expected in her lot and
what it was actually to be. The family troubles,
she thought, were easier for every one than for
her, — even for poor dear mamma, because she had
always used herself to not enjoying. As to hoping
that if she went to the Momperts' and was patient
a little while, things might get better, — it would
be stupid to entertain hopes for herself after all that
had happened : her talents, it appeared, would never
be recognized as anything remarkable, and there
was not a single direction in which probability
seemed to flatter her wishes. Some beavitiful girls,
who, like her, had read romances where even plain
governesses are centres of attraction and are sought
in marriage, might have solaced themselves a little
by transporting such pictures into their own future ;
but even if Gwendolen's experience had led her to
dwell on love-making and marriage as her elysium,
her heart was too much oppressed by what was
near to her, in both the past and the future, for
her to project her anticipations very far off. She,,
had a world-nausea upon her, and saw no reason all
through her life why she should wish to live. No
religious view of trouble helped her : her troubles
had in her opinion all been caused by other people's
disagreeable or wicked conduct ; and there was
really nothing pleasant to be counted on in the
world : that was her feeling ; everything else she

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 373

had heard said about trouble was mere phrase-
making not attractive enough for her to have caught
it up and repeated it. As to the sweetness of labour
and fulfilled claims ; the interest of inward and
outward activity ; the impersonal delights of life as
a perpetual discovery ; the dues of courage, fortitude,
industry, which it is mere baseness not to pay
towards the common burthen ; the supreme worth
of the teacher's vocation, — these, even if they had
been eloquently preached to her, could have been
no more than faintly apprehended doctrines : the
fact which wrought upon her was her invariable
observation that for a lady to become a governess
— to " take a situation " — was to descend in life
and to be treated at best with a compassionate
patronage. And poor Gwendolen had never dis-
sociated happiness from personal pre-eminence and
eclat. That where these threatened to forsake her,
she should take life to be hardly worth the having,
cannot make her so unlike the rest of us, men or
women, that we should cast her out of our com-
passion ; our moments of temptation to a mean
opinion of things in general being usually depend-
ent on some susceptibility about ourselves and
some dulness to subjects which every one else
would consider more important. Surely a young
creature is pitiable who has the labyrinth of life
before her and no clew — to whom distrust in her-
self and her good fortune has come as a sudden
shock, like a rent across the path that she was
treading carelessly.

In spite of her healthy frame, her irreconcilable
repugnance affected her even physically : she felt a
sort of numbness and could set about nothing ; the
least urgency, even that she should take her meals,

374 DANIEL DERONDA.

was an irritation to her ; the speech of others on
any subject seemed unreasonable, because it did
not include her feeling and was an ignorant claim
on her. It was not in her nature to busy herself
with the fancies of suicide to which disappointed
young people are prone ; what occupied and exas-
perated her was the sense that there was nothing
for her but to live in a way she hated. She avoided
going to the Kectory again : it was too intolerable to
have to look and talk as if she were compliant ; and
she could not exert herself to show interest about the
furniture of that horrible cottage. Miss Merry was
staying on purpose to help, and such people as Jocosa
liked that sort of thing. Her mother had to make
excuses for her not appearing even when Anna came
to see her. For that calm which Gwendolen had
promised herself to maintain had changed into sick
motivelessness : she thought, " I suppose 1 shall
begin to pretend by and by, but why should I do
it now ? "

Her mother watched her with silent distress ;
and, lapsing into the habit of indulgent tenderness,
she began to think what she imaoined that Gwen-
dolen was thinking, and to wish that everything
should give way to the possibility of making her
darling less miserable.

One day when she was in the black and yellow
bedroom and her mother was lingering there under
the pretext of considering and arranging Gwen-
dolen's articles of dress, she suddenly roused
herself to fetch the casket which contained her
ornaments.

" Mamma," she began, glancing over the upper
layer, " I had forgotten these things. Why did n't
you remind me of them ? Do see about getting

Maidens choosing. 375

them sold. You will not mind about parting with
them. You e;ave them all to me Ions aao."

She lifted the upper tray and looked below.

" If we can do without them, darling, I would
rather keep them for you," said Mrs. Davilow, seat-
ing herself beside Gwendolen with a feeling of
relief that she was beginning to talk about some-
thing. The usual relation between them had
become reversed. It was now the mother who
tried to cheer the daughter. " Why, how came you
to put that pocket-handkerchief in here ? "

It was the handkerchief with tlie corner torn off
which Gwendolen had thrust in with the turquoise
necklace.

" It happened to be with the necklace — I was
in a hurry," said Gwendolen, taking the handker-
chief away and putting it in her pocket. " Don't
sell the necklace, mamma," she added, a new feel-
ing having come over her about that rescue of it
which had formerly been so offensive.

" No, dear, no ; it was made out of your dear
father's chain. And I should prefer not selling the
other things. None of them are of any great
value. All my best ornaments were taken from
me long ago."

Mrs. Davilow coloured. She usually avoided
any reference to such facts about Gwendolen's step-
father as that he had carried off his wife's jewellery
and disposed of it. After a moment's pause she
went on, —

" And these things have not been reckoned on
for any expenses. Carry them with you."

" That would be quite useless, mamma," said
Gwendolen, coldly. " Govornpsses don't wear orna-
ments. You had better get me a gray frieze livery

376 DANIEL DERONDA.

and a straw poke, such as my aunt's charity chil-
dren wear."

" No, dear, no ; don't take that view of it. I feel
sure the Moniperts will like you the better for being
graceful and elegant."

"I am not at all sure what the Momperts will
like me to be. It is enough that I am expected to
be what they like," said Gwendolen, bitterly.

" If there is anything you would object to less —
anything that could be done — instead of your
going to the bishop's, do say so, Gwendolen. Tell
me what is in your heart. I will try for anything
you wish," said the mother, beseechingly. " Don't
keep things away from me. Let us bear them
together."

*' Oh, mamma, there is nothing to tell. I can't
do anything better. I must think myself fortunate
if they will have me. I shall get some money for
you. That is the only thing I have to think of.
I shall not spend any money this year: you will
have all the eighty pounds. I don't know how far
that will go in housekeeping ; but you need not
stitch your poor fingers to the bone, and stare away
all the sight that the tears have left in your dear
eyes."

Gwendolen did not give any caresses with her
words as she had been used to do. She did not
even look at her mother, but was looking at the
turquoise necklace as she turned it over her fingers.

" Bless you for your tenderness, my good dar-
ling ! " said Mrs. Davilow, with tears in her eyes.
" Don't despair because there are clouds now. You
are so young. There may be great happiness in
store for you yet."

" I don't see any reason for expecting it, mam-

MAIDENS CHOOSING. 377

ma," said Gwendolen, in a hard tone ; and Mrs.
Davilow was silent, thinking as she had often
thought before, " What did happen between her
and Mr. Grandcourt ? "

" I will keep this necklace, mamma," said Gwen-
dolen, laying it apart and then closing the casket.
" But do get the other things sold, even if they will
not bring much. Ask my uncle what to do with
them. I shall certainly not use them again. I am
going to take the veil. I wonder if all the poor
wretches who have ever taken it felt as I do."

" Don't exaggerate evils, dear."

"How can any one know that I exaggerate,
when I am speaking of my own feeling ? I did not
say what any one else felt."

She took out the torn handkerchief from her
pocket again, and wrapt it deliberately round the
necklace. Mrs. Davilow observed the action with
some surprise, but the tone of the last words dis-
couraged her from asking any question.

The " feeling " Gwendolen spoke of with an air
of tragedy was not to be explained by the mere
fact that she was going to be a governess : she was
possessed by a spirit of general disappointment.
It was not simply that she had a distaste for what
she was called on to do : the distaste spread itself
over the world outside her penitentiary, since she
saw nothing very pleasant in it that seemed attain-
able by her even if she were free. Naturally her
grievances did not seem to her smaller than some
of her male contemporaries held theirs to be when
they felt a profession too narrow for their powers,
and had an k priori conviction that it was not
worth while to put forth their latent abilities.
Because her education had been less expensive

378 DANIEL DERONDA.

than theirs, it did not follow that she should have

, wider emotions or a keener intellectual vision.

Her griefs were feminine ; but to her as a woman

I they were not the less hard to bear, and she felt an

I equal right to the Promethean tone.

f But the movement of mind which led her to

keep the necklace, to fold it up in a handkerchief,
and rise to put it in her necessaire, where she had
first placed it when it had been returned to her,
was more peculiar, and what would be called less
reasonable. It came from that streak of supersti-
tion in her which attached itself both to her confi-
dence and her terror, — a superstition which lingers
in an intense personality even in spite of theory
and science ; any dread or hope for self being
stronger than all reasons for or against it. Why
she should suddenly determine not to part with the
necklace was not much clearer to her than why
she should sometimes have been frightened to find
herself in the fields alone : she had a confused state
of emotion about Deronda, — was it wounded pride
and resentment, or a certain awe and exceptional
trust ? It was something vague and yet mastering,
which impelled her to this action about the neck-
lace. There is a great deal of unmapped country
within us which would have to be taken into
account in an explanation of our gusts and storms.

END OF VOL. L

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